He memorized the poem she wrote.
She brought him a glass of water while he planted the garden.
They listened to him tell the same stories again and laughed again.
She helped him into the bath even though he couldn't remember who she was and struggled with her.
He pulled the covers up around him as he slept and kissed his forehead.
They cleaned her off and changed her sheets.
She whispered in her good ear that she was just as beautiful as the day they were married.
He got all his friends and coworkers to vote for her painting and she won.
She always put the seat in his car back exactly the way he liked it after she drove it.
He got up every morning and cooked them a good breakfast before school.
She never let on that she didn't enjoy the movies he picked out.
He fixed her hair, put lipstick on her, and painted her toenails and fingernails before anyone came to see her in the hospital, right up till the end.
She always crossed the street and moved their newspaper just outside their front door because it was hard for them to get down the stairs.
He slept on the lumpy side of the bed for him, since he had a bad back.
Even after he died, she cooked and ate his favorite meal on his birthday. She never liked it.
He held her as she cried and apologized after she had a panic attack in the middle of having sex for the first time in months, and told her he understood and it was okay.
They acted surprised and were delighted when she was finally ready to admit she wasn't just her roommate but her partner.
He climbed up into his mother's lap as she cried - his tiny face right against hers, his eyes looking straight into hers as their noses and foreheads pressed together, his little hands on her cheeks - and said, "I love you."