"Someone kept calling the radio station requesting the same song. For 114 days straight. I'm a DJ at K-Rock 98.3. Overnight shift. Midnight to 6 a.m. Mostly lonely truckers and insomniacs listening. Around 1:15 a.m. every single night, same number calls. Same request, "November Rain" by Guns N' Roses. Eight-minute guitar solo version. First week, I played it. Thought maybe someone really loved that song. Second week, I started screening the calls. "We just played that yesterday, how about something else?" "November Rain, please." "We have a no-repeat policy" Click. They'd hang up. But they'd call back the next night. 1:15 a.m. exactly. "November Rain." This went on for months. My coworkers thought it was hilarious. Started a betting pool on when the caller would give up. They never did. Day 47, "Look, buddy, what's the deal with this song?" Long silence. Then, "Just play it. Please." The voice sounded older. Male. Tired. I played it. Day 82, My manager told me to block the number. "It's harassment." I didn't block it. Day 91, I answered. Before they could speak, I said, "It's queued up. Playing at 1:30." "Thank you," they whispered. Day 114, The call came. But different voice. Younger. Female. "This is about the November Rain requests," she said. "My grandfather passed away this morning. He won't be calling anymore." My stomach dropped. "He had dementia," she continued. "Couldn't remember much. But he remembered that song. Said it was playing when he proposed to my grandmother in 1992. At some restaurant. She died five years ago. The song was the only piece of her he could still hold onto." She was crying. "He'd get confused at night. Agitated. The only thing that calmed him was that song. So I'd call you. Every night. He'd sit next to me, listening on the radio, and for eight minutes he'd remember her. He'd smile. Then forget again. But for those eight minutes....." I couldn't speak. "Thank you for playing it," she said. "Even when you were annoyed. Even when your manager wanted you to stop. Those eight minutes were everything to him." She hung up. I sat in that booth. Played "November Rain" at 1:15 a.m. Nobody requested it. I just played it. Did it again the next night. And every night since. Some listeners complained. "Why do you keep playing the same song?" I never explained. Just said, "Station policy." But truckers started calling in. Said they pulled over during that 1:15 a.m. slot. Listened to the whole eight minutes. Some knew why. Most didn't. One guy said, "I don't even like that song. But something about hearing it at 1:15 every night..... feels like church. Like we're all stopping together. For something." They were right. It's been six months. I still play it. Every single night. 1:15 a.m. Some things aren't about what you like. They're about what someone needed. Once. When nothing else worked. That song's not mine anymore. It belongs to an old man who forgot everything except how to love his wife. And now it belongs to everyone driving lonely highways at 1:15 a.m., looking for a reason to keep going. Eight minutes. Every night. That's my church now." Let this story reach more hearts.... . Ai image is for demonstration purpose only. . By Mary Nelson