I could feel her body relax, releasing all connection to the conscious world, immediately after she slipped into her side of the bed. Sliding up behind her, fitting like two interlocking puzzle pieces, I let go too. Although I had been about to get up and start my day, savoring the moment held me back. 

Lying with her there in the dark, as I have for more than 40 years, still filled me with an almost giddy excitement. It’s always been the thing I loved most, just having her with me, next to me, in our bed, together.

Everything else takes a back seat. Dog water that needed to changed, the call I have to make first thing: “Hi, Greta, I want to adjust my auto insurance and the deduction.” The never ending “to do” list that insists on a front row seat in the light of day, tugging at my shirt, demanding attention, all of it  melting away in that moment of hushed intoxication as we lay safe under the armor of flannel sheets and a tattered blue bedspread.