Yesterday, my husband and I celebrated our 29th wedding anniversary. As in any relationship, we have gone through both good times, and challenging times, together. We’ve lived through career transitions and cross country moves. We’ve managed the complexity of a blended family of seven and shared the joy of each of our ten grandchildren. We’ve faced loss of loved ones and the decline and death of one of our parents. And here we are, a bit amazed that so many years have passed and appreciating a relationship that has only grown stronger.

Because our anniversary is right at holiday time, we have always combined our gift giving into one event. We used to call it our “holiversary” and we have had fun finding ways to try and surprise (and hopefully delight) our partner. My husband is, admittedly, the undisputed champion gift giver. He thinks of things that I would not have necessarily even thought of and he is always a bit over the top. One year, it was a concert or theatre event each month. Other years, I open boxes to find clothes, electronics and more. This year’s haul included new baking pans I would not have bought for myself, a karaoke machine that I was so excited to get, new AirPods and more. You get the idea. I am absolutely a 5 year-old when it comes to gifts and, while I love giving them, I am always beyond delighted to open them!

I was reflecting a bit on our years together, thinking about his very generous spirit that and knowing that I am both fortunate and spoiled by that. But what struck me as I thought about these years was far beyond the material gifts, it was the gift of his presence and the way in which he, without fanfare or fuss, shares his love with me and with our family.

This is a man for whom nothing is impossible. He always finds a way, no matter what the circumstances and what crazy plans or requests confront him. This is the man who spent a couple of years, while taking a certification program from home, serving as the sole caregiver in “Grandpa’s Infirmary” and taking care of some of our grandkids when they were too ill to go to day care. There were many days he held a feverish infant in his arms all day, staying put so they wouldn’t be disturbed. This is the man that, when my brother died, made the phone calls I couldn’t make. And when we spent long days with our bereaved niece and nephew, 11 and 12 years old, he distracted them with brief escapes for fresh air or French fries, bombarding them with silly puns to bring smiles back to their faces. He’s a man who slept in a plastic chair at my bedside in the hospital after surgery, unwilling to leave my side even though I insisted I was fine. The list goes on and on.

While he does not wear his heart on his sleeve, it is not far below the surface. I know that he has a daily ritual, looking at pictures of the dog we lost last year, far too young, and there is no mistaking the tears that fill his eyes. When I think about heart, I know that all that he does, and all that he is, comes from his heart. We are blessed and I am grateful for a partner who always fills my full heart.