Introduction My husband was just about to wake me with a cup of coffee when my eyes popped open at four o'clock the morning we left for the Virgin Islands. As I slowly eased myself into a semiprone position to get the caffeine to my lips, I could hear him singing in the bathroom. Smiling to myself, I reflected on the absurdity of me, the night owl, living with Spanky, the lark. Twenty minutes later, as I shuffled past him shaving at the sink, I couldn't help but chuckle at the dance routine he had added to his vocal performance. His eye caught my amused look in the mirror and he gave me that smile that still creates butterflies in my stomach all these years later. In this fleeting moment of connection, I was filled with appreciation and gratitude to be living in a state of true love -- for this has not always been the case.I can vividly remember when I had little understanding of the true nature of love. The despair of one particular night many years ago still stands out in my mind as if it were yesterday.

It began with an all too familiar conversation with my former husband."Are you coming to bed?" he asked."Umm, a little later," I replied.Translation: "Do you want to make love?" Answer: "No." The scene was familiar, but this time I felt a hopelessness that set this exchange apart from all the other invitation-and-refusal scenes we'd enacted before. When I finally got to bed the space between us was like a demilitarized zone, bunkered by two cold backs facing opposite directions. The positions were familiar but the numbness was new. It seemed only a night ago that we had gone to sleep in our peacetime position with his arm around me and my head snuggled between his shoulder and neck.

That night I knew what I had not accepted before. We would never sleep in that luscious slumber of lovers again. Tired of the conflict, guilt, and inadequacy -- and feeling like a failure as a wife and a woman -- I gave up hope and collapsed into despair. I couldn't have felt more alone. I knew then that the loneliest night you can ever spend could be lying next to someone you love.I don't know if you can pinpoint the exact moment when hope goes out of a marriage, but looking back, that night seems like a turning point to me. I had never felt such desperation. Before then, we had always managed to surmount our difficulties and get back to a loving connected place, but after that night, it was never the same.

Although it would be years before we would separate, I think the grieving began with this incident. A relationship that started with such high hopes and optimism had slowly turned into a profound disappointment.To this day I find it hard to accept the way that relationship ended. Anyone looking at our early life together could easily have seen us as the perfect couple. Our courtship was old-fashioned and romantic. We spent long hours walking, talking, and getting to know each other before we even shared a kiss, and we took time to deepen our friendship through sharing experiences like swimming in a nearby stream and taking part in volunteer projects. With the energy between us, we could make even the most mundane activity interesting.In the early years of matrimony, our excitement -- fueled by strong sexual desire and great lovemaking -- quickly spread to numerous new adventures afforded by marriage: moving, traveling, visiting relatives, entertaining, making new friends, and later conceiving our first child.

Shortly after giving birth, however, I noticed that my sexual desire had dropped out of sight and, frankly, I didn't miss it. I was busy being a full-time mother, plus trying to manage all the responsibilities I'd had prior to the birth. I didn't have time to think about sex. My lack of interest was not a problem for me, but it was clearly -- and rightfully -- a problem for my husband. At the time, I silently blamed him for being inconsiderate enough to desire me when the feeling wa.