I bawl, just in absolute shock. The doctor leaves the room and my mom and I sit in silence while time stands still and anxiety fills the air. We say no words, but our expression says so much. My mother looks broken, as she can’t seem to look up and her eyes are watery while her lips are trembling with pure fear. The clock keeps ticking, and that’s all we hear. After what seems like an eternity, we leave the building while the feeling of apprehension and uncertainty looms over. I muttered one sentence on the ride back: “What about piano?”
I felt like an insomniac that night. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fall asleep. I rise from my bed and walk over to my mirror. As I look at myself, I prepare for the absolute worst. The person that I am currently looking at will be very different in the foreseeable future. I sit there and think about how lucky I was my whole life to be normal, and be able to do the things I wanted. I shed more tears at the thought of not enjoying privileges that I should be grateful for. Time was ticking, and I knew this was my last chance to make the most of it.
No way was I going to immediately tell the school, teachers, mentors, or my friends about my revelation. I am the type of person who needs preparation for everything. The emotional breakdown of my parents, some of the strongest people I know, was enough for me to know that this was an absolute heartbreaker. Over the next couple of weeks, my piano teacher picked up on my drastic change of personality. I was working harder than ever and seemingly much more determined to learn the music than before. I knew at this point that I couldn’t keep the secret for much longer. When I told her, a feeling eerily similar to what happened at the doctor’s office took over. We embraced each other for the next 5 minutes, as my teacher muttered to me words of encouragement and reassurance that I was going to be okay. I was dismissed after that, as she wanted time to think.
My piano teacher and I decided to hold a Piano solo performance, as the final mark of my 10-year journey. I had 5 weeks but I spent the most time ever in my life playing the piano. The tip of my fingers became so hard and solid that even my teacher was surprised. I knew that this could be my final chance so I seized the opportunity. I also spent the most time I ever have with my family, as I wanted to see them and interact with them whenever I could. Time went by, and I guess it was fair to say that my focus and determination neutralized whatever fear I had about the future.
I opened my eyes, and now I walked onto the stage. As I recollected the memories of the past 3 months, I took to appreciate how much I’ve done with what I had. As I nervously walked onto the stage, my trembling eyes glimpse the enormous crowd. All my friends, family members, teachers, and even the principal were watching me. When the applause went down to silence, for a short second the only thing I could hear was my heartbeat racing. My fingers were shaking, as this could be my last chance to play the piano. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath in and a deep breath out 3 times, as we did in school. With that, I began the first note. At that moment, every practice session that I had started to rush in. My fingers seemed automatically engaged as my hand jumped to the exact spot that the music called for. I began to enjoy the music, as I began to connect lines, notes, and phrases to develop a connected sound. I closed my eyes as I let the fingers do the work. Everything, from start to finish was perfectly executed. At that moment, I only appreciate the music. I began the last phrase, as my left and right hand went from down to up in a single scale. The notes become louder as I add more force. When I reach the last note, I put forth all the remaining strength left in my hands and forearms and end with a thunderous chord. As the echo fills the stage and the rest of the hall, I hear a holler and then a roar of applause. Cheers fill the hall as every audience member stands up. My eyes tear up as I receive the standing ovation that I have so wanted for my entire life. Even though the brain tumor may be permanent, I have no regrets knowing that I did everything I could in my time. It was... bittersweet.
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