The Gift of the Harmonica

What does this picture mean to you?

To me: hope. You're crossing a desert and incredibly thirsty. You don't know how much longer you can last, but your human hope pushes you onward. But there are times when you wonder if it's all in vain, and you're afraid of holding onto that hope, fearing the disappointment when it turns out you were just hoping for the impossible. And when everything seems lost, you spot something. Jutting out of the ground is a little green sprout, a glimmer of hope in the hopeless desert. Wherever there is green means water can't be far away. And then you start hoping all over again.

Not too long ago, my family and I were thrown into a desert of despair (get it? instead of a sea of despair, I said a desert. No? Okay.) 

My grandfather, my dad's dad, was in the hospital. His kidneys weren't filtering his blood fast enough. He was fatigued, confused, lying helpless in the emergency room.

I remember how my dad delivered the news to us; sleepless eyes, face dark, as if preparing for something. But even in this despairing time, I was hopeful. My grandfather had been a soldier in the army, a very famous candy maker, and he married my grandmother so he was, of course, a very strong and determined man. I was confident that my grandfather would make it. I was sure there would be some miracle, and he would be okay again.

I was 7 years old: my grandfather and I would take walks around his house, he'd play his harmonica for me. I remember it so clearly; I would be skipping in front of him, and he'd be close behind, walking both his hands behind his back, gazing at golden leaves but not really seeing them. Then we would sit on his porch, he'd remove the harmonica from his case, and he would play some tunes for me. One day, he couldn't play his harmonica anymore and so he gave it to me - a gift. The night that my dad returned saying my grandfather was in the hospital, I remembered this memory. I looked for the harmonica and couldn't find it. 

Then one day, my parents said my grandfather had gotten worse. He had tubes in him now to clean his blood. His kidneys had stopped working completely. The doctors said he would only live for several months, five at most. I can barely explain how it felt. I don't even remember if I felt - it was so...I don't know. But it was a very sad moment. Though as crushed as my hopes were, I didn't stop believing. I couldn't stop believing.

And then just today, the miracle happened. My grandfather's kidneys started working again. Everyone was so happily surprised and amazed. The prospect of him getting better had seemed impossible. But, I guess everything seems impossible until it's done.

That's what I wanted to say. Never lose hope. Even if there's ten-thousand miles of desert around you and you don't know which direction the oasis is, keep looking. Keep hoping. You'll find it.