My father still lived in the home where I grew up—the one he and my late mother had built from scratch. It wasn’t grand, but it was sturdy and warm, every corner filled with memories. He loved his mornings tending the garden and afternoons lost in his books.
We asked Michael’s parents, David and Susan, if they could stay with him while we were away. Both retired, they had plenty of time and insisted it would be their “pleasure” to help.
