I knew he was nervous. I was pretty sure it was going to be just fine. I had the same surgery years before and had long forgotten the haunting thoughts of them cutting on my eyes, but I could see the worry in his. I understood. 

Neither of us are early morning people, but we were both up well before the ridiculous doctor pre-dawn time required to make our appointment. We didn’t talk much. He showered. I packed. Well, over-packed with snacks and writing tablets, phone batteries and pills like we were off to safari. I watched as he gathered his paperwork; both pant legs of his baggie navy dockers awkwardly caught up in his calf-high, white ribbed socks. Something about that was endearing to me. I didn’t tell him to pull them down until we got ready to walk out the door, and only then because I knew he wouldn’t want to be seen in public so not put-together.

We began backing out of the garage into the pitch dark night. I was driving and noticed the Sirius channel was playing Rhapsody in Blue. Out of character from my usual preference of silent running, and because I wanted this morning to be as easy for Les as it could possibly be, I turned the radio up and mentioned, “Look at that. Gershwin!” 

Les loves Gershwin, and in particular this piece. I’ve always known that. As we rolled along the nearly vacant Richmond Avenue, the music grew, filling our car with notes and crescendos and bells and strings. Between the highs and lows I mentioned, “Isn’t it kind of special that of all the music to come up this morning, this one is playing?” “Yes,” he replied. A few blocks later he added, “I don’t remember this part though.” And weirdly, neither had I.

There was something magical about driving the newly-made-smooth Richmond Avenue in the dark. Just a few cars. Singular mission: get Les to the doctor with as little stress as possible. And now, Gershwin. I thought of my friend Sheila as I practiced regulating my emotions, because, after all, this morning was not about me, but Rhapsody in Blue had never sounded so majestic, the love I was feeling for my husband was easy, and spontaneous gratitude welled up in me like new love. 

As we neared the office and the song ended, Les told me this story.

“When I was in the hospital (age 20) for three weeks and waiting to have lung surgery, late one night after visiting hours were over and the only sound were the beeps of all the machines, Mom called and she played the Gershwin album over the phone for me. When the first side was finished, she turned the record over and let me listen to the second side.”

There was a sweet pause, then I answered, “Well, Lillian found a way to play it again for you this morning.”

Don’t tell me that isn’t wonder-filled. Don’t explain away the random music played on the radio at just the right moment as anything other than Miraculous Love finding its way to where it is needed. I will always remember that drive in the dark down Richmond with Gershwin, Les and Lillian.