They were a bit of a curiosity on the center of a crowded dance floor.  If the other couples had been less polite, they might have stared at them.  But they didn’t.
    She was a tiny woman with short graying hair and an ageless face.  The uncontrollable muscle movements of her arms and head made her look quite child-like.  Her partner, head and shoulders taller than she, looked older.  He, too, was graying and there were deep lines etched in his face.
    Sometimes they danced face to face, her head bobbing about and her arms often thrown up above his head.  At other times, he held her securely with her back against his abdomen.  They danced facing the same direction as her head and hands moved in unpredictable directions.
    They seemed oblivious of the others on the dance floor.   They smiled tenderly at each other and when she was able, she looked into his eyes.  Neither spoke, and it soon became obvious that she could not communicate in words, only in unintelligible sounds.
    They danced often, and also rested frequently.  They slipped away from the dance early, leaving many of us wondering about their situation.
    The next morning, I found myself in line behind him as we waited for our breakfasts.  He was alone, and I struck up a conversation.  My curiosity overwhelmed my manners, and soon I heard myself asking, “I was so touched last night by seeing the two of you dancing together.  It’s really none of my business, but what is your wife’s situation?”
    He was eager to talk.  “We have always enjoyed dancing together.  There are some folks who would say we were pretty good at it, too.  But now my wife is slowly losing her strength and coordination to a chronic nerve-  and muscle-wasting disease. 
    “So far I’ve been able to take care of her myself.  We even do some traveling in our motorcoach.  But there’s no cure or effective treatment for her condition, so I know she will continue to get worse.  I want to take care of her as long as I can, but I don’t know what will happen when I can’t do it anymore!
    “But she still loves to dance, so I take her as often as I can.  You can see how much she  enjoys it!”
    We picked up our breakfasts, and he ordered a second serving for her.  I expressed my admiration of his tender care of her in her disabled condition.  Then we each went our separate ways.
    Several decades ago, there was a popular book entitled  Love Story.  It was made into a movie which was enjoyed by many viewers.  The most notable line from that movie was this: “Love is never having to say ‘I’m sorry’.”
    My new dancing friend, in his quiet and gentle way, taught me another definition of love:  “Love is helping feet to dance when they can no longer walk.”