Update: 2025 (Part 2)
Watching Dan’s care, contentment, and vitality slip away at Harbor House left me at a loss. I still believe the main culprit was the revolving door of staff—some inadequate, others indifferent. Without a consistent administrator or caregivers, Harbor House no longer felt like a community. Dan, who has always needed a strong sense of belonging, had lost his.
The one exception was Jane, his longtime daytime CNA. Jane had cared for him since his first arrival years earlier and was the one steady, dependable presence he had left. So when she told me she, too, was leaving, my heart dropped. She had accepted a position at another facility, Woodhaven—and, to my surprise, so had several other staff who had once been among Dan’s favorites. Jane spoke warmly of Woodhaven: better pay, better conditions, more respect. She hated leaving her residents behind, but she, like so many others, could no longer endure Harbor House.
Not long after, an idea began to form: What if Dan moved to Woodhaven too? The thought was exciting, but also daunting. Relocation is never easy—for Dan or Dyke and me—but if it meant better care, more stability, and familiar faces, maybe it was worth it.
I arranged a tour with Lynnette, one of Dan’s few remaining cherished friends at Harbor House, who had recently moved to Woodhaven. She walked me through the facility, which was modest but clean, well-kept, and calm. Staff seemed genuinely kind, interactions felt warm rather than perfunctory, and the atmosphere was lighter than Harbor House had been in years. We came across several other former Harbor House staff, and their faces told the story: relaxed, cheerful, at ease.
The only drawback: no single rooms were available. Dan loved his large private room at Harbor House. At Woodhaven, he would have to move into a double room—though, at least for now, it was unoccupied, and he’d have it to himself. He would also be first in line for a single room when one opened.
When I asked Dan if he’d consider moving, he thought for a moment before spelling out one word: “JANE?” Yes, I told him. Jane was already there. And so were Lynnette and several others who knew him, cared about him, and understood who he was. For Dan, that made the prospect appealing.
After visiting Woodhaven together, seeing the room, and reconnecting with familiar staff who greeted him with genuine pleasure, Dan said yes. He was ready to leave the devil he knew for a place where angels were working. (There’s a sign on a wall near the front desk that reads, “Nurses. Because angels isn’t a job title.”)
The following week, Dan was in his new home. The move itself was not without logistical headaches, but we managed. And now, six weeks later, we’re all glad he made the change. (One of the nurses who had been at Harbor House told me last night with a luminous smile that she was glad Dan was out of Harbor House and now in Woodhaven, where his care would be better.) Dyke and I visit nearly every day, helping him adjust, but it’s clear he feels settled and, most importantly, that he belongs again. His caregivers know him, respect him, and treat him with warmth. Despite the neurological decline he’s experienced over the past couple of years, he looks better, sounds better, and seems lighter in spirit.
His biggest challenge right now? Learning the new TV system. For Dan, that’s a serious issue, but if that’s the hardest thing he faces at Woodhaven, we’ll take it.
PS: I asked Dan last night if he was glad he’d moved. He nodded, gave me his beautiful smile, and reached for my hand.
*As in my book, I use pseudonyms here for facilities and for everyone outside our family to protect privacy and avoid potential legal issues.