When I was in hospital after a complete nervous breakdown, I was on a visit to the local town with my wife when we passed a man wearing a tee-shirt with the message 'Django Lives!' on it. Even in my drugged up and barely alive state, I stopped to ask him where he got it, and we had a conversation about Django Reinhardt.
My wife would not have had a clue who Django was, and despite the incredibly difficult times we were going through, she made a mental note about him, and for my birthday (by which time I had just been released from the residential psychiatric hospital) she bought me a boxed set of Django's music.
It's not so much the music, wonderful though that is, but the fact that my wife could remain so loving and thoughtful after the unbelievably hard time I put her through, and the music is a permanent reminder of that love, which I did not deserve, but needed, and was still alive because of it.