How We Came to Maryland
— A story of love, family, and new beginnings
After accepting our son Josh’s generous offer to move closer to him in Charlotte, Fred and I made the move and sold our house within a few months.
It was a big step – one filled with both uncertainty and hope. We knew we needed to be near family as Fred’s Alzheimer’s progressed.
Our daughter Jo came down from Pennsylvania to help. I had an upcoming surgery and would need a week or so to recover. By then, Fred’s care had become more than I could manage alone while recuperating.
The Sunday before my surgery, I had a mini-stroke. Thankfully, it resolved on the way to the hospital after the paramedics gave me fluids.
When I went in for surgery that Friday, I mentioned it to the nurses. They brought in my doctor, who gently told me that until we knew what had caused the TIA, it was too risky to operate. The danger of a full stroke was just too great.
Later that day, Jo and I went to lunch. She suggested we each make a “go bag” that we could grab quickly if either Fred or I ever had to go to the ER again. It would hold our medications, medical history, and anything else important.
That bag ended up being prophetic.
The next day, Jo was catching up with Josh while Fred and I sat down for lunch. We’d made a habit of playing gin rummy while we ate. Just a simple joy in the middle of complicated days.
Midway through the meal, I reached for my tea glass with my right hand—and nothing happened.
I tried my left hand. It worked. But Fred had already seen the look on my face. I saw his worry.
Panicked, I called Jo. From that moment on, everything blurred.
We lived just 10 minutes from the hospital. Josh didn’t wait for an ambulance. He got me into his truck and drove to the emergency room.
When we pulled up to the door, he told them, “Mom’s having a stroke.”
The ER burst into motion. Alarms. Lights. Staff running into place.
He rushed back home to stay with Fred, and Jo met me at the hospital. Alyssa, one of our “adopted daughters,” lived nearby and was called to help.
Later, Jo told me we were just minutes from missing the window for TPA, the stroke medication that can reverse damage if given in time.
The virtual stroke doctor came on the screen and approved it just in time.
That moment changed everything.
A few days later, I was discharged, but I wasn’t allowed to drive. Jo built a standing desk in a quiet corner of the living room and started making plans. She and Bob agreed she would come down once a month to make sure we got to our appointments and be with each of us to hear whatever we would miss in a doctor’s visit.
Josh and Amanda would take care of groceries, errands, and anything else that required wheels.
At my follow-up visit, the neurologist asked if Fred and I could move into assisted living. I told him honestly—we simply couldn’t afford it.
Unbeknownst to me, Jo later called Bob.
And he said, without hesitation,
“We’ll buy a house big enough for all of us.”
When Jo offered, we said yes. They found a home in Maryland that fit everyone’s needs. We walked through it—smiled, nodded, and they bought it.
And that’s how we came to Maryland.
Now, Fred had once said he would never leave North Carolina again.
But the stroke scared him. He knew he couldn’t care for me if I had another. So we left, together.
Oh, those nine months…
That house was a dream we hadn’t dared to dream for ourselves.
It was nearly a century old, with a wide front porch made for morning coffee and visiting with family and friends into the evening, sometimes watching a train go by.
The two youngest of their five children were still in high school, and we were able to experience the joyful chaos of teenage life—late-night snacks and conversations, hearing their laughter with their friends, and high school soccer, lacrosse, and football.
Thanks to Jo and Bob’s generosity, we had no financial worries. Just the peace and dignity of living surrounded by love.
Fred no longer drove, but he still went out with us. He came to church. He basked in the joy of family life. His eye for arranging spaces beautifully remained intact, and he took real joy in helping us settle into our new home.
He felt useful. He felt included.
He felt home.
And oddly enough… it didn’t feel like an ending.
It felt like a beginning.
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