Thirty-two suites. One standard.

My mother ran a household of seven for forty years. Wexford House is the first place that runs one the way she would.

Julian learned my father's Sunday omelet in one try. Dad has stopped telling people he's 'in a home.' He says he lives at Wexford.

With thirty-two residents, the nurse noticed Mom was quieter at breakfast and caught a urinary infection before it became a hospital stay.

We live in London. The weekly note from Leah, with photographs, is the next best thing to being there.

I still go to the symphony. The driver walks me to my seat and is waiting at the curb afterward.

The suite looked like my parents' living room on the first day. Martin had hung every picture where it was at home.

Afternoon tea in the library is the best hour of my week, and I visit four days out of seven.

We toured six communities. This was the only one where every caregiver we passed greeted a resident by name.

After my hip surgery I stayed three weeks in the recovery suite. I came back a year later to stay.