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Mike himself fell asleep after a while, so the bed must have been comfortable.
That's when the conversation turned to more serious subjects.
"I saw the Overview." Josh said. The look said it all, though I would have known what he was talking about, anyway, because the incident had been in my mind all morning.
I didn't know what to say.
"I know you DO care, dad." Josh assured me. "I bet Ryan had a fit, though." He smiled.
"Yeah, he did."
"You looked really happy in the pictures."
"I know." I actually felt kind of guilty for it.
"You don't have to feel bad about that, dad." Josh told me, as if he had read my mind. "I'm glad you were happy that day, and you had so much fun. God knows you need it. All this family needs it. What I'm trying to say is..." I watched as Josh struggled for the right words. "That you can still be happy, dad. I'm sick, I know, but it's not the end of the world, okay? I'm hopefully going to be fine, and life will go on as ever. So you gotta be strong, for me. And that means being cheerful even when you're feeling really depressed over the whole thing..."
"I promise to try, son." I solemnly agreed. Inside I was wondering, how am I going to be able to do that? How can a heartbroken father help his deep sadness when one of his children's lives is in stake?
"Okay, and changing the subject, dad... I was thinking a lot this morning while I had the blood test, and I realized why I'm feeling so sad."
"Isn't it obvious?" I asked, confused.
"Actually, no." Josh said. "The leukemia doesn't make me sad, it's the music, it's gone."
"Gone?" I echoed.
"Yeah, I've been in this hospital for what, three months? And I have not once had the opportunity to play the piano, which, as you know, is what I like to do best."
"So that's what you want? To play the piano?" I asked, trying to figure it out.
"Yeah, well, and apart from that, I'd really like to talk to my friends. They normally don't let them in, you know, and I'm not allowed to use a cell phone or anything, so I feel really bad about that." Josh confessed.
"I could arrange that." I absentmindedly stated. "Give me a few minutes and I'll arrange all that for you, anything for you to be happy, 'kay Josh?"
"Yeah, thanks, dad. I knew you would do it."


* * *

Two hours, a quick lunch and four arguments later, I sat watching my son play the piano. He may have not had practice, but he definitely had not lost the passion nor the skill.
His arms may have been not as strong, his fingers more clumsy, his back not in as good a position as he normally played before, and he may have still been wearing the hospital pyjamas. But in truth when Josh was placed in front of a piano he quit being a boy, leukemia or not, and became an excellent pianist. Josh had talent, that was for sure.
I clapped enthusiastically.
"Da-aaad!" Josh said, embarrassed. He turned around and smiled. "Quit it!"
The spell was broken. But it occurred to me that this hour he'd been playing the piano was probably more helpful to him that some medicine he'd taken, as it had made him feel better, more happy. Music heals.
I know that for a fact because whenever I was feeling sad, I used to grab my guitar and play, and after a while I'd be feeling much more encouraged about things. Maybe that was part of the reason I was feeling so depressed, because my music, too, had died. Any true musician can tell you, that their music becomes part of themselves. Sometimes you just NEED to play.
It's as simple as that.