Service
June 13, 2006
"You have cancer. The oncologist will be in touch." I hung up the kitchen phone, my ears still ringing from the heaviest thing they'd heard in their 17 years. I turned and told my mother what I had heard, then held her in my arms as she cried bitter and frightened tears. Cancer -- a disease usually associated with those far more advanced in years than me -- had come to our house, trying to break our family up. Yet, I was not afraid.
Growing up, I always felt that I had a purpose beyond my own small world, beyond the "get rich or die tryin'" goals of my peers. Needing something to pass the time during the long months of treatment ahead, I brought my guitar and laptop with me to Stanford and while I stayed at the Ronald McDonald House -- sort of a hotel for sick kids. There, I not only honed my skills with computer art, but played music. I didn't just play in my room; I played songs for the other sick kids and, for a few moments at least, took their young minds from their suffering. Most kids at the Ronald McDonald house were even younger than me, and seeing their ailments instantly removed from my mind any pity I had for myself.
I endeavored to help the kids' stay be more comfortable by entertaining them, either with my guitar or by helping the staff install computer games for the kids. I was clearly meant to be there, and not just for myself.
I'm six years free of cancer now, but the music hasn't stopped. I learned during that time that a simple song can free a suffering mind and move a heart seeped in despair. These days, I pay the bills with the computer skills I developed during that time, and still use music to move the hearts of those around me. Is my purpose as simple as a few notes on a guitar? No, but I live knowing that I can affect even the most desperate and beaten soul and -- if only for a moment -- give them happiness.