My neighbor, Henry, lived in his little bungalow for nearly 50 years. He and his wife had raised a son in that home. Eventually, the grown son moved across the country. Henry’s wife died. Henry’s son wanted him to move to a place where he’d have company and help when he needed it. A place where he’d be safe and have friends. Henry would have none of it. He was going to stay in his own home, in his own neighborhood. None of those new-fangled assisted living places where there’s no privacy. He liked his neighborhood where he’d lived for half a century. The trouble was, the neighborhood was no longer the same neighborhood.
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