March of 1980, I was in Concord, North Carolina, to visit with my daddy. Less than a month before my visit, Daddy had moved from his apartment, on the edge of town, to a two-room suite at the local hotel. He had made the move because his eyesight was failing and he could not get his driver's license renewed. The hotel was in the center of town, and he was in walking distance of needed services. When I asked him how he was doing, he responded that he was scared to death. He was not sure he could make it on his own.

We talked together and I offered him the choice of moving to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, to live with me and my family. It would mean leaving the community in which he had been born and spent his whole life. It would mean leaving his roots and friends behind. At age seventy-three …