Mesa Public School District held an essay contest and all English students could submit their original pieces. Eric put his heart into his essay and his English teacher convinced him to submit it. The news came yesterday that he got 1st Place in the personal narrative category! Now this isn't first place in his class, or at Mesa High School. This is for all schools in the Mesa School District. He will be recognized at an awards assembly on May 6th. You can feel the emotion as you read his essay:
Orchestrating My Place of Peace “One hundred twelve degrees, 5:32 p.m.”, scrolled the electronic banner in front of the hospital. As the sun banished behind the distant horizon, I reluctantly pulled into the busy parking lot. A symphony of thoughts conjured up an electrical storm of neural impulses in my head. “What changed, is everything alright? Have his kidneys turned around?” The Banner Gateway Hospital sign loomed nearer as I approached the intimidating, gloomy building. When I finally reached the door, it slid open with a welcoming light. The smile on the receptionist’s face gave me a ray of hope and radiated a positive aura at the hospital entrance. “Room 215?” I questioned. “Take the elevator and it will be to the right” replied the optimistic man. The vast elevator opened to reveal a beautiful interior with glass and granite handrails. Upon the second floor the elevator opened and I was greeted by two plasma televisions, both displayed challenging diseases and life-changing trials. “Wow, I couldn’t image having to worry about those trials”, I pondered. “It is a good thing that he only hurt his leg. They can fix that up and we’ll be back to our normal lives.” On the way towards room 215 were a series of closed doors and hand sanitizer dispensers. “210, 211, 212, 213, 214”, I mentally counted. Finally, room 215. I took an uncertain breath and pushed the door open to reveal my mom perched upon the edge of the room’s couch next to a sanitary white hospital bed that supported my dad.
Upon seeing me, my mom quickly put in place her most cheerful expression and stated, a little too happily, “Hi Honey”. I sat next to my mom, and waited expectantly. As she took a moment to pause before speaking, my Mom turned to my dad and said, “Shall I tell him or should you?” My Dad simply shook his head and quietly whispered, “It would be best if you did”. Before my Mom could speak, the door swung open by a small commanding figure who wasted no time with introductions. When he sat at the foot of my Dad’s bed, the electronic bed shifted to accommodate his weight. He leaned forward and earnestly began talking. Words that sounded like a foreign language rolled naturally off his tongue. Words I had never heard before and didn’t understand. Words like lymphoma, t-cells, non-hodgkins, and stem cell transplant. I stared at the doctor’s mouth as the words tumbled out. When the words cancer and chemotherapy finally penetrated my ears, I suddenly understood what was happening and that enlightenment hit me like a thunderbolt. I continued to watch the doctor as he described a diagnosis, prognosis, treatment plans, and a transfer to another hospital. The room spun and my mind raced. Was this what I had been summoned to witness? I finally understood. My dad had cancer.
A few months had passed since I learned the news about my father’s condition. I felt so helpless, but there was one thing I could do to cope with the chaos. From my place on the piano bench, I created beautiful waves of chords that resonated and filled the air in the small home. The music’s emotion could be clearly detected by the casual listener as I set the music with a swaying “A”-based arpeggio. When the base of the song was established, the higher-pitched melody crept in, and created a reflective feel to the piece. I concentrated intently. Ironically, I felt no control over the notes that seemed to magically flow from my fingertips as I closed my eyes and let the music simply guide me. The swirling, seemingly random thoughts and flashbacks of my father’s illness that float unconnected within my mind were tied together in a pattern of organized, complete musical expression of notes and chords. Collections of keys that built in tempo vigorously, increasing amplitude gave way to soft, light chords, held until the desired resolution that only I could feel, seemed to express what I could never put into words. As the final haunting notes were dispersed throughout the home, my mother’s voice broke the silence. “That was beautiful, honey. But I have never heard you play that piece before. In fact I‘ve never heard you play so much. Where are you getting your inspiration?” I simply turned my head to deliver the words of my heart. “I am orchestrating my place of peace”.
This has been such a hard year for our family, but Eric has turned a trial into a triumph. Congratulations honey, we are so proud of you.
