My husband is awesome. I always knew that, but I don't think I realized how wonderful, truly wonderful, he is, until I got sick and was shuffled back and forth from doctor's appointments. He takes time off from work so that he can drive me to John Hopkins and other doctor appointments and be with me and hold my hand. We spent my birthday with me being poked and prodded and abused at John Hopkins. He has not complained once about the changes in diet I've had to make for health reasons, that changed what food he eats as well. He is patient, loving and kind. He gives me hugs when I need them, and he always make the coffee (except on weekends and holidays). He walks the dogs when I get too tired (or it's too cold for me) to take them out. He solves problems for me - he's in the process of automating the home so I don't have to struggle with the door or lights. He bought me a cool funky cane. He's installed pull out shelving in the kitchen. He carries pots for me that are too heavy for me to lift safely. He chops vegetables for me when my body isn't cooperating. He lets me watch boring history shows instead of the news channel when I ask. He hands me the remote control if I ask for it without a complaint. He plants for me when it's too difficult for me and he'll pull stubborn weeds I can't get them. He lets me fail and encourages me to succeed. He lets me rant and rail against the world and pretends to listen. He drives me to work when it snows. He tries hard not to snore. He actually listens to my advice, when it's valid. He changes light bulbs, and gets me things I can't reach. He dances with me when there is no music.
I could go on. Maybe we should start the kvitch tread next?