When I got home to celebrate with my family after retiring at seventy and getting a cake, I discovered that the front door was shut and my baggage were waiting on the porch. There was a serious problem.
I spent thirty-eight years working at that facility. Management came and went, and the faces changed. A few changes were made to the hospital’s name as well. However, I stayed.
I didn’t have to. Because who else would it be if not me?
I had my crew at home. My two grandchildren, Ben and Lora, my son Thomas, and his wife Delia. We shared a single residence. My roof.