It's just a small, white house located down on the Lower Shore. It's old, built around the 1920s maybe. It even has a name, Cedar Villa, though painted over many years ago.

It was my uncle's house and farm, my limitless playground when I was a boy. Later on, after a hard day's work, my uncle, aunt and I sat outside on summer evenings, letting the breeze off the bay cool us as my uncle would tell me how he'd set the world right.

But now this house belongs to someone else. Now it's just a small, white house.

Bob Barlow


He now lives in a nursing home. I live in the home we built and he loved so. He feels alone and trapped in his new residence. I feel alone and trapped in mine, a married woman with no partner. We have 28 years together. Now we are alone together. "For better or worse." Better is over; this is the worst. Living in limbo, each day his illness taking him farther from me. I miss the man I married. I honor him by remaining steadfast even as the hole in my heart grows larger each passing day. The long goodbye.

Ginny Daly


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