Miriam

The last time I went to the children's hospital, I met 18-year-old Miriam from Egypt. Charlotte, the music therapist who usually guided me through the floors, showed me a violin that she got for the Miriam. I helped her tuned the violin, set up the bridge, and together we went to surprise Miriam with the gift. We arrived just in time, right before she was transferred to another floor. Miriam was ecstatic, to say the least. Her soft brown eyes lit up as she stretched out her hands to receive the instrument, holding it as if holding a baby. She told us that the violin was her favorite instrument and that she has had a couple of lessons in Egypt.

Under the encouragement of the music therapist, we had a little "jam session." She played the G open string rhythmically while I made up a melody in G major. Our audience--Miriam's mother and the nurses--clapped and whistled to show their appreciation. I gave her some tips on playing scales and on how make the violin stay on her shoulder. As we left her, we could still hear her playing and her mother's cheerful voice in the background.

When I returned the other day, two weeks later, I asked Charlotte how Miriam was. "Oh, you just missed her. She left yesterday," she replied.

"Did she enjoy playing the violin while on the other floor?"
"Well," Charlotte looked up from the piece of paper she was writing on and hesitated. "You know she started chemotherapy...so she wasn't feeling too well."

I didn't ask more, somewhat able to imagine, at the back of my mind, all that Charlotte did not say. I could still see Miriam's beautiful smile when she held the violin and bow in her hands, her painted fingernails slowly moving up and down the fingerboard. Wherever she is, I hope she did not lose her smile.