Compliment in Dementiaville

I'm in Romeo's room at the nursing home, thinking about going home for the evening.

"It's past ten o'clock," I said.

He was quick with his reply. "Time for all young girls to be in bed."

"Mmmm...how young?"

"About your age."

He's saying I'm a young girl. I like that. "Nice compliment, Romeo. Thank you."

He smiles and takes my hand, raises it to his lips, and plants a gentlemanly kiss. Because of his dementia, compliments from Romeo are rare. He simply doesn't think to express his feelings that way.

I sit for a moment, soaking up his words, loving them, cherishing them, making them reverberate through my mind until they're amplified and locked in my memory, filed away where I can access them in an instant. These words from Romeo are tiny gifts, each wrapped in silver foil and tied off with white satin ribbon. Genuine, sincere, heart-felt. My Romeo. What a sweet man.