I recently told this story to a friend of mine.
My Grandparents were always holding hands, sneaking kisses, giving each other cutesy little hidden things neither knew about for Christmas, doing things together, and you could tell how they looked at one another that real love was definitely there. They were extremely dedicated to one another, never went to bed mad, always worked things out and compromised, and I never once...ever (And I lived there an entire Summer, too) heard them yell at one another or really argue. It was what a marriage should be. They didn't have a whole lot. They raised my mom and my two Uncles in a 400 square foot house that he built himself by hand, and from what I hear, although it never seemed to be enough for my mom (But it was enough for my Uncles) there was always tons of love and warmth in that house. Yeah, my mom's always one of those "bigger and better" kinds of people. Sigh. But anyway......my Grandpa had a heart attack in a parking lot and, unfortunately, hit his head on a pavement and his brain swelled and he was a vegetable for around 9 months before he died. My Grandma just sat there next to him every single day hoping for a miracle that everyone knew would never come. After he passed away she wasn't the same for a while. I even moved in with her for a year so she could talk stuff out, etc. and I really think I helped her because before I was there the entire house was basically a shrine dedicated to my Grandpa. She finally came to peace with it, but as a decade went on, she developed cancer of the brain and lungs (She didn't smoke either) and every time her passing was something she wanted to discuss, she made us promise that her ashes were to be buried right next to my Grandpa's so that they could be together forever. That, to me, is love. Something eternal. To this day I have their wedding photo hanging above my favorite chair, to remind me what true love really looks like.
