One Year of Home at Home: Co-Founder Don MacPherson’s Reflection

On October 24, 2025, Home at Home celebrates its first anniversary. As we approach this milestone, we’re taking time to reflect on the journey that brought us here. Throughout the month, each of our founders will share their perspective on the past year and what it has meant to them.

Co-Founder Don MacPherson’s Reflection

As Home at Home completes its first year in business, I was asked to write my reflections on what I've learned. More than anything, I've gotten an education on the psychology of aging adults and their loving, concerned children. This story is a reflection of what we often experience as we work with a family navigating living options that prioritize safety while offering autonomy, dignity, and fulfillment.  

Aging in Place: Turning Fear into Freedom

When I pulled up to the small, well-kept house on the edge of town, I could see the pride in the home. The garden was the owner's work of art, but a trained eye could quickly see where a few repairs needed to be made. A branch hung too low over the roof, a railing needed to be secured, and a piece of trim needed sanding and a coat of paint. 

I was there to meet Mrs. P., a woman in her 80s whose children had contacted me because they were worried. They said she had stumbled twice in the past few months, and they feared it was only a matter of time before something serious happened. They wanted an assessment of her home—its safety, its accessibility, its overall functionality. As I walked up the front steps, I knew the real work would be more emotional than technical.

Expecting me, Mrs. P. opened the door before I had a chance to ring the doorbell. Though I've seen this look before, her eyes moved me. They flashed pride, fear, and deep uncertainty. To her, I wasn’t just a stranger. I was a potential threat to the life she loved.

Her eyes seemed to say, Are you here to tell me I can’t live here anymore?

I smiled gently and introduced myself. “Mrs. P., I’m Don. Your children asked me to come here to make sure your home is safe for you. My job isn’t to convince you to move anywhere. It's to assess the safety of your home and if there are any modifications that need to be made, my company is going to help you make those changes so you can stay here as long as possible.”

She smiled slightly, but I could still sense her unease. I’ve learned over the years that most older adults aren’t afraid of aging itself—they’re afraid of losing control. The word independence carries a lifetime of meaning. For Mrs. P., it means cooking her own meals, tending her garden, and sitting in her favorite chair by the window where she watches the birds at the feeder as the neighborhood kids play in the street. 

Her home is where she and her husband taught their children to be independent. When her husband passed away over a decade ago, Mrs. P. discovered a new type of independence...her reinvention. She learned to paint, went on trips with friends, and visited her children. At that time, everything seemed to change, except for her home. 

As we walked through the house together, I asked gentle questions and let her tell me stories. Every room carried a memory—the debates at the dinner table, the closet with the holiday decorations, and the pictures showing the growth of her children and, now, her grandchildren.

As much as her home told a story of love and life, it revealed risk.

The throw rugs in the hallway—soft, beautiful, and dangerous.
The narrow bathroom doorway that made it hard to maneuver with a walker if she ever needed one.
The old tub with high sides and no grab bars.
The basement stairs with poor lighting and a cement floor at the bottom
The absence of adequate railings.

These weren’t just minor issues. A single fall could mean the end of her independence.

I explained each of these risks carefully, never rushing her, never overwhelming her. “You see this rug here?” I said, gently nudging the corner where it had curled up. “It’s something small, but it’s one of the most common causes of falls. Do you need it here?”

She shook her head slowly. When I came back to the room a few minutes later, the rug was gone. 

When we reached the bathroom, she acknowledged it was no longer working for her. “I’ve been meaning to fix this,” she admitted softly. “But I don’t know where to start.”

“That’s okay,” I told her. “We can help with that. There are beautiful walk-in showers now—no barrier, no step. We can add lighting, grab bars, and even a fold-down seat if you want. It can look elegant and safe.”

By the time we sat down in her living room, something had shifted. Her voice had softened. She started to ask questions—curious ones, hopeful ones. “You mentioned technology earlier,” she said. “What kind of things could help me if I fell?”

I explained how smart home devices could connect her with help instantly—a simple voice command to call her children or emergency services, motion sensors that could alert someone if she hadn’t moved for a while, even wearable devices that could detect a fall automatically.

She smiled faintly. “That sounds complicated and expensive,” she said with a laugh.

“It’s actually becoming very common,” I replied. “Technology can be your safety net. It doesn’t replace your independence—it protects it. These solutions are surprisingly easy to use and are remarkably inexpensive.”

As our conversation went on, I could see the fear in her eyes give way to something new—confidence. She told me she had been working with a personal trainer to improve her balance and leg strength. I told her that was one of the best things she could do. “If you keep that up, stay healthy, and make some of these small changes around your home,” I said, “there’s no reason you can’t stay right here for years to come.”

Her eyes welled slightly. “My kids mean well,” she said, “but they don’t understand. This house is where I belong.”

“They love you dearly. I can tell that from the way they talk about you,” I said. “And I believe they do understand. That's why they asked me to visit you today. They want to keep you safe. I can't think of a more loving act than that.. My goal is to help you stay you and stay safe.”

After an hour together, Mrs. P. walked me to the door. Her hand steadied itself on the wall as she turned the knob, but her voice was firm and clear. “I think we can do this,” she said.

I smiled. “You already are.”

As I walked back to my vehicle, I looked back and saw her standing at the window. The fear that greeted me was gone. In its place was relief, hope, pride.

Aging in place is not grab bars and ramps—it’s dignity, autonomy, and the quiet confidence of knowing that growing older doesn’t mean giving up the life you’ve built. It means making the smart changes that let you keep living it, safely, on your own terms.