This is a precious memory.
When my mom and all her friends were younger, they would talk about how they would buy a house and all live together when they got very old.
Apparently, in their house those who were most senile (their words, not mine) would live on the top floor so they could not get out of the house to get lost.
Those who were “not that far gone” (again, not my words) would live on the second floor. And they could live on that floor because they still “had enough sense if they went out, to know how to get home.”
Those who could live on the first floor were those who still had the ability to think and communicate and walk (albeit with walkers in some cases). My mom and her friends, way back when, always wanted to be on the first floor.
It never happened.