Overnight travel and a strange bed can make sleep come at a premium, especially if confusion sets in before drowziness happens. Wakefulness means conversation:
He asks, "Where are we?"
I answer, "My mom's bed. We're at her place for a few days."
"Oh," he says, touching my arm. "Your skin is so soft."
"No, really. It's really, really soft."
"Thank you. I use a lot of lotion to keep it that way."
I say, "What's funny?"
"I can't believe I'm here with you."
"You're so beautiful!"
"Thank you," I say, with tears in my eyes. This has never happened before in all our years of marriage.
"No, really, you're the most beautiful girl I ever dated."
This has never happened, either.
"Thank you," I whisper, "You're kinda cute, yourself."
Now it's his turn to say, "Thank you. I love you." And he chuckles again.
"I love you, too. What's funny?"
"Nothing's funny. I'm just so happy. You're so beautiful! I can't believe I'm with you. I love you. I really do!"
"Are we married?"
"Yes, we've been married 44 years."
"44 YEARS? Wow. You're so beautiful. Really. You look great. Your body looks great, so curvy and soft. I'm so happy!"
This more or less exact conversation was repeated over and over all night long, until he finally fell asleep just before dawn. And so did I, curled up in his arms, amazed at this wonderful discovery of deep love and continued attraction. Why didn't he romance me like this from the very beginning? I don't know. But he's doing so now, and that's what matters.
One of my friends told me years ago, upon learning of the diagnosis, that she felt sorry because the relationship I'd always dreamed of having with my husband would now never happen. I was taken aback at the time and tried to dismiss her comment, discounting it as baseless words that should not have been spoken. Because you know what? She was wrong.