Why Some Stories Take Time to Tell
By Donna Jolley • June 16, 2026
Lately I’ve been working on my 2014 family photo album in FOREVER Artisan®. It has taken me a while to get to this album. Why, you might ask? Because that was the year my life changed in ways I never expected.
In 2006, after our youngest child graduated high school and moved to the sunny south, we sold our house and hit the road as full-time RVers. That meant moving from a 3,500-square-foot house to a 25-foot travel trailer with no slides. We lived in that tiny house on wheels for about 18 months before upgrading to a 40-foot fifth wheel—the house of my dreams—along with our new diesel truck to pull it. We had the chance to go wherever we wanted, get out of debt, and see America.
And we did travel—Ohio to Florida, Florida to Texas, Texas to California, and back again several times. For six years, we spent our summers on the shores of Lake Erie at our church camp, volunteering wherever they needed us. We also served as camp hosts at several state parks in North Carolina, Florida, and Georgia.
In January 2014, while we were camping next to my sister in Florida, we invited our dad down for a visit. He had been living with another sister of mine, a traveling nurse, and they had traveled together for nearly 12 years in a 37-foot motor home. Dad was about 92 years old and had begun experiencing short-term memory loss. To give my sister a break, we offered to take him for a while.
That January, my sisters dropped him off in Florida. He spent his nights at my sister’s mobile home and his days hanging out with us and the dogs in our fifth wheel.
When the end of February came and we were scheduled to head to a camp-hosting job south of Savannah, we decided to take Dad with us for a couple more months.
While Dad was with us at Fort Morris National Historic Site, he fell and broke his hip. He was constantly letting the dogs out the door without their leashes. One day we went out to bring the dogs back in, and after putting the leashes on them, I dropped them on the ground so Dad wouldn’t trip over them. And what happens? He fell over the dogs.
We called for help and got him to the hospital, where he underwent surgery for a total hip replacement. He did very well for a man his age. After two weeks, he was well enough to fly back home to Ohio to finish his rehabilitation.
And this is where my story really begins.
I knew Dad couldn’t continue living alone while my sister worked her 12-hour shifts. He had gotten lost several times walking his little dog and had even been brought home by the police once.
Meanwhile, down in Georgia on the coast of the Medway River, I was wrestling with God about what should be done. Who was going to step up and take care of him? What about my plans? After eight and a half years of living on the road, I wasn’t even close to wanting to settle down. I felt like I was just getting started with this full-time RV adventure. I hadn’t been to Yellowstone yet. What about Glacier National Park? And I still wanted to drive to Alaska. There were so many places I hadn’t seen yet.
And I felt God say to me, “This is your time to give back to someone who gave you everything.” And that was that.
We had always said that if we ever had to buy a house, it would be around Lake Norman, North Carolina, where our oldest child lived. We found the perfect house for the three of us in just one day. It was perfect!
By September we were ready to move in, and my sisters brought Dad down. We all moved in on the same day—no adjustment period for getting used to living in one place.
Thankfully, my sister came and stayed with us for a month while Dad adjusted. My husband finished our camp-hosting commitment through September and October, and soon we became a happy family of three—my husband, my dad, and me (and the dogs, of course)—all living together in our little house on a hill.
Dad lived with us for four and a half years before he left us for his heavenly home.
I won’t lie—it was very hard for me at first to give up my lifestyle. That’s one reason I’ve put off telling this story for so long. But now, when I go through my pictures, I relive every minute I had with my dad. I treasure every grin, every smile, every hug, every “let’s just sit on the porch awhile and watch the cars go by.”
I can’t delete a single picture, even if they all look the same. I want to scrapbook every photo I ever took of him. I want to write down every story I remember now, before I too begin to lose my memories.
Sometimes it’s okay to put off telling the story when it hurts too much. But when you’re ready, and your heart has healed from the loss, God blesses you with such sweet memories that each one brings a smile to your face.
As I go back through my album pages—checking placement and correcting spelling—I once again grin and smile at every memory I’ve captured. I treasure every album and every memory we’ve created together.
And I am thankful for FOREVER® and their organizational and creative tools to continue this lifelong journey of sharing the heart of a captured moment in time.