A personal experience that reinforced the mission of Three Apples Foundation
Not long ago, our family visited a residential nursing facility for people who use wheelchairs and live with severe physical disabilities. We wanted to see firsthand what life might look like for someone who could no longer be cared for at home.
We left with heavy hearts.
The facility occupied an old building, and nearly everything inside seemed to have aged with it. The beds, the assistive equipment, the furnishings—all appeared to belong to another era. The air felt stale, carrying the unmistakable atmosphere of a place where people spend their days indoors.
The residents' rooms were painfully small, barely large enough to accommodate a bed and a few personal belongings. There were no private bathrooms. Residents had to share two restrooms located in the hallway.
Yet the most troubling part of our visit was not the aging building or the outdated equipment. It was the feeling that life itself had somehow become confined within those walls.
The staff welcomed us warmly. They appeared compassionate and genuinely concerned about the people in their care. I have no reason to question their dedication. But even the most caring staff cannot replace the warmth of a family, the familiarity of home, or the simple freedom to be part of everyday life.
We had an opportunity to interact with several residents. What struck me most was the look in their eyes.
When we approached and spoke with them, I sensed something that was difficult to describe—a longing for human connection, for conversation, for someone from the outside world to stop and acknowledge them. It seemed that even a few minutes of attention from strangers brought a welcome interruption to their daily routine.
I could not stop thinking about what their days might be like after visitors leave.
How many hours pass between meaningful conversations? How often do they see someone who is there simply because they want to spend time with them? How many have families who love them deeply but cannot provide the intensive care they require at home?
I do not know their individual stories, and I would never presume to speak for them. But I could not escape the sadness I felt in that building.
No one should have to surrender their sense of belonging simply because their body requires extraordinary care.
For more than ten years, my wife and I have cared for our son, who lives with severe physical disabilities. We understand the physical exhaustion, the sleepless nights, the financial pressures, and the constant responsibility. We know how difficult it can be to perform even the simplest daily tasks when someone depends entirely on others.
There have been countless challenges. But through all of them, our son has remained where he belongs—with his family.
He is surrounded by familiar voices, conversations, laughter, disagreements, celebrations, and the ordinary moments that make a house a home. He is not simply someone receiving care. He is a son, a family member, and an active participant in our lives.
During our visit, I kept imagining him living in one of those tiny rooms.
The thought was unbearable.
I knew that I would do everything within my power to prevent that from becoming his future.
But I also understood something else: not every family has the resources, physical strength, equipment, or support needed to keep a severely disabled loved one at home.
Some parents are elderly. Some caregivers must work to support their families. Some cannot afford specialized equipment or accessible transportation. Others are simply overwhelmed by responsibilities that never end, day or night.
For these families, institutional care may become the only realistic option—not because they love their family members any less, but because they have run out of alternatives.
And that is the tragedy we want to address.
Why We Created Three Apples Foundation
Our experience reinforced the purpose behind Three Apples Foundation.
We believe that families who want to care for their loved ones at home should have a genuine opportunity to do so.
Our mission is to help make that possible.
We want to improve access to essential assistive equipment, develop practical technologies that reduce the physical demands of caregiving, help families find financial and community resources, and share the knowledge that can make daily care safer and more manageable.
We envision a future in which a parent does not have to risk injury every time they transfer a child from a bed to a wheelchair. A future in which an elderly spouse can obtain equipment that makes caring for a loved one physically possible. A future in which families can find reliable guidance and support without spending months searching for answers.
We also recognize that residential facilities remain necessary for some individuals, and that many dedicated professionals work hard to provide compassionate care. Our purpose is not to condemn those who work in such places or the families who depend on them.
Our purpose is to give families more choices.
Because the decision to place a loved one in an institution should never be forced by the lack of a suitable wheelchair, an unaffordable patient lift, an inaccessible home, or the absence of practical support.
Our visit reminded us that severe disability can take away a person's physical independence. But it should not have to take away their connection to family, their dignity, or their place in the world.
I still remember the faces of the residents we met. I remember how much a simple conversation seemed to matter. And I remember leaving that building feeling deeply grateful that our son could return home with us.
But gratitude alone is not enough.
We want to help other families have that same opportunity.
That is why Three Apples Foundation exists.
Because home is more than a place to receive care. It is where we belong, where we are loved, and where life continues despite disability.
And whenever possible, families should be able to stay together.
