Holding On to Home

Avery Wilson
Sep 3
2 min read

In Willard, North Carolina, a small brick house holds nearly six decades of family history. Ronald bought it in 1967, the year he and his wife, Geneva, began to build a life together. Within these walls, they raised three children, celebrated milestones, and made countless memories. Ronald still recalls with clarity the day each child took their first steps across the living room floor.

Music, too, has always filled the home. Ronald learned piano at the age of three, guided by a mother who believed in the grounding power of Gospel music. Later, he performed with his family as a traveling quartet. Even now, though age has slowed him, the piano sits at the center of his living room, a reminder of joy, resilience, and the rhythm of everyday life.

But time has also worn the house down. Geneva, now facing the early stages of dementia, struggled with dangerous falls on the front steps. Worn carpet in the bedrooms triggered breathing problems. Their stove had stopped working, and the absence of fire and carbon monoxide alarms left them vulnerable. With only Social Security to rely on, the couple could not begin to address the mounting safety hazards.

That is where community intervention made a difference. Volunteers came to their aid, replacing the stove and laying new flooring throughout the bedrooms. They installed safety railings so Geneva could once again use the front door, and they added fire and CO2 alarms, small but profound changes.

For Geneva, the repairs translated into a sense of safety she had been missing. “I appreciate it so much,” she said. “I couldn’t use the stairs.” Ronald, ever the musician, recalled the camaraderie with the volunteers who worked in their home. “The volunteer groups were nice and respectful,” he said. “We sang and played the piano one day.”

What matters most to Ronald, however, is that he and Geneva can remain in the home they have owned outright for decades. “It’s the convenience. I know where everything is. I don’t want to move at this age,” he explained. “This is the home that I bought and paid for. It’s ours.” Geneva’s reflection was more succinct but no less powerful: “To be grateful, to be thankful. If it hadn’t been for this program, I don’t know what we would have done.”

Ronald put it plainly: “They treat you like family. Like good family.”

For couples like Ronald and Geneva, aging in place is not simply a matter of comfort, it is about dignity, continuity, and belonging. Their story is a reminder of how fragile those things can be, and how much it matters when a community rallies to protect them.