In late spring 2021, I sat on the couch adrift in my living room and asked Cody, “What are we doing here?”
He didn’t know — he would never have traded a life in Montana, complete with a farmhouse, acreage, and a doggie hiking group, to live on a Blue Ridge mountaintop where we knew no one.
The plan was to care for my mother, but nine days after I closed on the condo that was now home, she died. I didn’t just grieve her but also the loss of purpose. I’d uprooted my life, and there was no plan B.
I bought my unit in a mountain resort sight unseen, congratulating myself on securing a historically low mortgage rate and a price that would have been…
