Every morning, before heading upstairs to begin her shift as a home care worker, Geri would stop by the office with a bright smile and a quick hello.

Always full of life, she'd tease, “When my time comes, honey, you best have a place for me!” It was classic Geri—direct, lighthearted, and full of love.

Years went by. Life shifted. Geri lost her husband, and soon after, her health began to decline. But even then, the sparkle in her voice never faded. Both Connie and I kept in close contact with her, never forgetting the woman who had so faithfully cared for others.

When that time finally did come, just as she predicted, we made sure she had a place with us—a place that felt like home.

The photo you see here captures that familiar warmth in her eyes. It’s how we all remember her: kind, strong, always with a touch of humor and grace. A caretaker turned resident, Geri completed the circle of care she had once given so freely. She wasn’t just someone we helped—she was family.

Bringing her into our community was more than fulfilling a promise—it was a way of honoring a life spent in service to others. We were lucky to have her not once, but twice: first as a caregiver, and later, as a neighbor and friend.

Geri reminded us what community really means.

Not just buildings and services—but people, relationships, history, and heart. Her presence continues to echo in our halls, and her story is one we’ll never stop telling.