It was such a strange feeling. For the first time, we couldn’t go home. Year after year, we’d travel from Florida to Iowa to visit my husband’s parents. We stayed in their home, of course — the one my husband grew up in. The one that held so many memories of his childhood, holidays with our kids and incredible home-cooked meals. It always held a comforting, loving familiarity. Last summer, our visit was a whole new reality. Their home now belongs to a new owner. My mother-in-law, once a vibrant, active woman, is now severely mentally impaired as a result of …
