She’s in second grade and the VSO does an instrument petting zoo at her school. She falls head-over-heels in love with the euphonium. Seven years old, begging her parents for lessons on this odd-ball instrument as soon as she gets home. They’re so lost, so they ask for help and end up finding my dad.
Fast forward to December. Tuba Christmas on Church Street. There she is, practically bouncing out of her coat with excitement. A whole band of just euphoniums and tubas before her. After they finish playing, my dad sits her down with his horn and a spare mouthpiece, to see if she can even play. She can. Now he’s excited, too.
Fast forward a few months. She’s eight now, sitting down for her first ever euphonium lesson, brand new instrument in her lap. I can’t tell who’s more excited — her or my dad. Nobody ever told her learning an instrument was hard, so for her it isn’t.
Fast forward again, this time a few years. It’s her last lesson before the middle school district music festival auditions, and she shows up with her right hand in a cast. She’d gone skiing with her dad the weekend before. She proceeds to spend the next week practicing all of her audition material left-handed and gets the top score for all the euphoniums auditioning that year. We are so proud of her.
Fast forward to when she’s twelve. My dad asks what euphonium technique she wants to work on for the summer. She says multiphonics. A technique he’s been working on for decades and still has yet to master. It’s supposed to fill up their lessons for the whole summer. Two weeks later she’s playing duets with herself out of the Tuba Christmas book. She wants to be a marine biologist when she grows up.
Fast forward a few more years and suddenly her digestive system is barely functioning. She can’t eat. Nobody knows why. Her pediatrician accuses her of faking it. Accuses her desperately loving parents of medical abuse and neglect. She’s had medical tests that prove something really is wrong. The child psychologist who interviews her for the DCF case says she’s the most well-adjusted kid ever. It takes far too long to get her seen by the specialists she needs. She stops going to her euphonium lessons. She can’t play her instrument anymore.
Fast forward a couple months and someone finally figures out what’s wrong. Her neck is no longer strong enough to support her head. It’s putting enough pressure on her spinal chord to turn her digestive system off. Once she’s in the neck brace, things start working again, but the damage is already done. She uses her wish from the Make-A-Wish Foundation to turn her bedroom into a galaxy-painted cat rescue. Her best friend helps her make leg braces for a foster kitten who also has joint and mobility issues.
Fast forward one last time and she’s in the pediatric ICU again. Been there since December. Sixteen years old, and she knows this is her last hospital stay. It happens quietly on a Monday in February. Painlessly. Her mom and dad are with her. So is the love from all of us lucky enough to have known her.
In memory of KJS – July 31, 2004 – February 8th, 2021
You are one of my heroes.
Music Without Melody 