Paul Leong kisses his wife a hundred times a day. He doesn't have to keep count, though he is an exact man and keeps track of just about everything else. She always liked kissing him, and when she got sick, he made a promise that he'd kiss her a hundred times every day because it made her happy.

Jane Forester-Leong started showing signs of Alzheimer's when she was in her early 50s. Now 61, Jane can no longer walk, speak or feed herself. She doesn't recognize her husband, yet, in some ways, she still knows him and responds to his voice and his touch.

Theirs is a beautiful love story that plays out day by day in a one-bedroom apartment near Date Street. Paul, 64, does everything for his wife that she no longer is able to do; bathing, feeding, crushing up her pills to mix in applesauce. He has done this for 10 years and insists it's not difficult and that he's not tired.

"I'm not some great guy. It's because of Jane. I couldn't do or be this without her," he said.

They met in 1982 when they were paired in a mixed doubles paddle tennis tournament at the Pacific Club. He didn't know her, but when their names appeared together on the roster, his friend told him, "You're playing with Jane? Oh, you can't help it, you're going to love her."

Jane was like a walking force for good. She was sweet, gentle and unguarded. True to his friend's prediction, Paul couldn't help loving her. They won the tournament together and started dating soon after.

She brought out a tender side of him he never knew existed.

When he was working Downtown, she asked to meet him for lunch. Instead of going to a restaurant, she brought a picnic lunch that they ate in Thomas Square. "I never did that before," Paul said.

A photo collage of those early years show the two romping through a playground, playing on beaches and posing next to his red MG convertible. She is blond, leggy and vibrant as a swimsuit model. He is smiling like he just won the lottery.

"I used to be embarrassed in the beginning because every new person she introduced me to, she would always say, 'This is my husband, and he's the best' and then kiss me on the cheek. That was something she did all the time."

Both were divorced with children. Paul had a daughter and two sons, Jane had a daughter. They married in 1989 when he was 44 and she was 41 and blended their families.

"She always wanted to have a lot of kids, so it was perfect," Paul said.

"I used to get mad at her because she was too nice. If she asked the kids what they wanted for dinner and they wanted different things, she would make three different things for dinner. That's the kind of nature she had."

He was the tennis pro at Kailua Racquet Club. She was the executive director for the U.S. Tennis Association Hawaii Pacific Section. They played as a team in tournaments, but were often together off the court as well.

"Jane always wanted to be with me, no matter what I was doing," Paul said. "If I went golfing, she asked, 'Can I come along?' And she was happy as a lark just being there, sitting in the golf cart, walking around and looking at the flowers or the ocean."

SIGNS OF TROUBLE

The first signs were subtle. She'd forget appointments, things like that. Once they knew what they were dealing with, he asked if she wanted to move back to North Carolina where she grew up and still has family. She said no, she loves Hawai'i, and if she was going to die, she wanted to die here.

"When she was first diagnosed, I asked the doctor how much time she has. He told us seven years, max. We're pushing 10 years now," Paul said.

Her neurologist recently told him there was no need for a six-month checkup, but he'd see her in a year. "I'm aware that anything can happen, but that was a nice sign," Paul said.

Paul turned their apartment into a peaceful oasis. Large windows look out over a tropical courtyard. He keeps music playing softly. Everything is clean and meticulously ordered. Jane sleeps sweetly in their bed. He massages her and exercises her every day, and in all his years of caring for her, he's proud that she has never once gotten a bed sore.

"I have a routine. I do everything twice. If I eat, she eats. If I brush my teeth, I brush her teeth. If I wash my hair, I wash her hair. If I put lotion on me, I put lotion on her."

Paul's father suffered from Alzheimer's, and at times during the course of the illness, became ornery and would try to run away.

"Jane has never tried to leave and never gets angry," Paul said, acknowledging what a rare blessing that is when dealing with this disease.

She still recognizes him in small ways, still responds to his words. "I go by her ear and I talk to her and that always relaxes her. She'll laugh and smile, and if I kiss her neck, she'll giggle."

Jane was always such a beautiful woman, and Paul took pride in his pretty wife. When she was no longer able to put on her own makeup, he went to Merle Norman in Kahala Mall to learn how to do it for her.

"I took Jane with me so the lady could show me what to do on her," he said. "And then I went back for a second lesson to make sure I knew how."

When she could no longer dress herself, Paul would put her in pretty dresses and pick out a matching necklace and earrings. That was when she was still able to join in dinners with his siblings. These days, family and friends visit around the bed.

Paul works in the early morning in Waikíkí. He has a landscaping business and owns a luggage service for Japanese tourists. He also manages the apartment complex where they live. He makes time to golf, play tennis and run, and has two regular caregivers to look after Jane during those times. Hospice workers come three times a week to do bed baths for Jane, and every Saturday Paul does what he calls "the deluxe car wash" where he carries her into the shower, washes and conditions her hair and shaves her legs.

FRIENDS DON'T KNOW

Leong's sister, Melba "Bobbie" Kop, contacted The Advertiser about what she called "the loveliest of love stories" between her brother and his wife, and she encouraged Paul to open up about their life. He wanted to make sure he didn't come across as some kind of sappy hero and that people understood it was Jane's love for him that made all he does possible. He also didn't want anyone to think he was the one who contacted the paper. And then, he thought about his golfing buddies who have no idea what he does every day.

"A lot of my friends don't know. Everyone has their own problems and they don't need to hear mine. Not that she's a problem. Never. But if they read about this, I think they'll have heart attacks," he said.

With the guys, he's famously cocky and sarcastic. "They never see my soft side," he said.

A year ago, Jane was hospitalized with an infection. She wasn't eating, so the medical team discussed a feeding tube. Paul was determined to prove Jane could still eat by herself. "I told them, 'You are not putting a tube in my wife. If you try, I'm putting her over my shoulder and carrying her out of here.' "

He brought in yogurt and a banana late at night and worked on getting Jane to eat. When he was able to prove to the hospital staff that she could swallow, they said staff couldn't feed her because it took so long. Paul vowed he would be there three times a day to feed her, no matter how long it took. "I didn't want her to stop eating and then maybe forget how to swallow," he said.

He fed her, she ate, and got well enough to come home.

In a letter Paul wrote to Jane's daughter, he tried to explain why he's done all this for 10 years and why he doesn't feel it's been difficult:

"Granted, this is a horrible disease, but the way I deal with this is I am willing to take anything mom can give me at the moment, no matter how small. It's the only thing I have, but that's enough for me as she's still in my arms & I can kiss & hold her. I know what she gave me in the past, but that's not as important as what she's able to give me now. Hopefully now, you understand why I fight so hard to keep her around."