When my grandfather died my grandmother did not remarry. Instead she lived alone for the next twenty years, with the occassional child or grand child staying for a time when money was tight, or hearts were broken. She was alone and rather content. 

Ten years before her death she was asked to accompany an old friend to an event. He was a recent widower and didn’t want to go to his Christmas pary alone. They had a brilliant time and danced most of the night. They did not fall in love.

For the next four years the two aged gracefuly, though not without the occasional health problem. My grandmother’s children and grandchildren strayed farther and farther from her and she was left alone like her gentleman friend. They would give each other company, holiday together, watch the news, and fall asleep in the middle of the afternoon. 

They fell in love, though not the same sort they had expereinced in their twenties, sixty years prior. They did not stay up at night thinking of one anohter, they did not sneak away to kiss in the cupboards of their parents houses, they did not weep when the other went off to war, nor plan to bear children or any of the actions thereabouts. They were companions, nothing more, though at times he professed he would marry her in an instant. 

When he came to die in the spring of their fourth year he said to her, 

“My love for you is without bounds, and so we should not bind one to the other, but know my love that forever I will love you and think of you. “