Ten years ago - 3,650 days ago - my husband Don quit smoking. He'd been a smoker for over twenty years and I never, ever thought he'd quit.

His doctor had told him at his last regular checkup that he really should consider quitting, and had written a prescription in case he decided to give it a try. The written prescription sat in his dresser drawer for well over a year, then one day he handed it to me and asked me to get it filled. The prescription was for Zyban, which is the same as Wellbutrin. Wellbutrin is an anti-depressant and is covered by our insurance. Zyban is strictly for smoking cessation and is not covered. I got the prescription filled (after getting our doctor to write a new one - pharmacies don't generally honor a year old prescription.) It cost $100.00 to fill it.

He has not smoked a single cigarette since that day, August 24, 1998. Ten years ago.

That's 109,500 cigarettes he hasn't smoked. I'm not even going to figure out the money we saved. It pales in comparison to what we've really saved - years of his life. On the first anniversary of his quitting date we spent a week in Cancun, paid for by the money we saved from not buying cigarettes that year. Every single year since then I asked him to choose something he really wanted as his gift. He's received a massage chair, a special workbench, a really nice fishing rod and reel; whatever he picked I was thrilled to buy it for him, to celebrate continuing to do this hard thing. He tells me he still misses it every single day, but that he quit for me. For us to have more time together.

So today, his gift will be a card with $190 in it, the cost of a day of fishing with a guide while we're in Canada, hoping to catch the oh so elusive muskie. I think it's a heck of a deal for me and his kids and his grandkids.

This isn't about passing judgement on a single person who smokes. It's about celebrating when someone does what they (and I) thought was impossible, especially when the motive behind it was love.