Flashback to February 21, 1972. Bob and I had known each other for almost a month. We were young, healthy, smitten . . . well, rather nervously, we checked into a motel and let nature take its course. Which, despite the nervousness, it did.
He later told me that the next morning, when the room started to get light, he looked over at me sleeping and thought that I was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
January 6, 2020. We had driven down to Gainesville; he had to check into the hospital and start chemo the next day. We were, of course, terrified, even though at the time his prognosis was good. He had a panic attack - cried, shook, grabbed me, buried himself in me - both figuratively and literally. Surprisingly, we both slept well that night. And he said that I was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
So there it is - the Alpha and Omega of our conjugal life (with a *lot* in between). And now I'm living the solitary celibate life, with even a hug being a very rare event.
And that's my thought for the morning.
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