IN MEMORY OF SOMEONE WHO LEFT THIS WORLD FAR TOO EARLY... CHERYL ANN HOUSTON.

Not long before her death, Cheryl received a standing ovation after giving this speech to the congregation of her church. May her life, and her words, have a purpose. May we always be reminded by her courage and determination, that each moment of our lives, is truly, in Cheryl's words, "a precious gift to be cherished".

Cheryl's Speech:

On Nov. 18, 1995, Yitzhak Perlman, the violinist, came on stage to give a concert at Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center in New York City. If you have ever been to a Perlman concert, you know that getting on stage is no small achievement for him. He was stricken with polio as a child, and so he has braces on both legs and walks with the aid of two crutches.

To see him walk across the stage one step at a time, painfully and slowly, is an unforgettable sight. He walks painfully, yet majestically, until he reaches his chair. Then he sits down, slowly, puts his crutches on the floor, undoes the clasps on his legs, tucks one foot back and extends the other foot forward. Then he bends down and picks up the violin, puts it under his chin, nods to the conductor and proceeds to play.

By now, the audience is used to this ritual. They sit quietly while he makes his way across the stage to his chair. They remain reverently silent while he undoes the clasps on his legs. They wait until he is ready to play.

But this time, something went wrong. Just as he finished the first few bars, one of the strings on his violin broke. You could hear it snap – it went off like gunfire across the room. There was no mistaking what that sound meant. There was no mistaking what he had to do.

People who were there that night thought to themselves: “We figured that he would have to get up, put on the clasps again, pick up the crutches and limp his way off stage – to either find another violin or else find another string for this one.”

But he didn’t. Instead, he waited a moment, closed his eyes then signaled the conductor to begin again. The orchestra began, and he played from where he had left off. He played with overwhelming passion and power and purity.

Of course, anyone knows that it is impossible to play a symphonic work with just three strings. I know that, and you know that, but that night Yitzhak Perlman refused to know that. You could see him modulating, changing, recomposing the piece in his head. At one point, it sounded like he was de-tuning the strings to get new sounds from them that they had never made before.

When he finished, there was an awesome silence in the room. And then people rose and cheered. There was an extraordinary outburst of applause from every corner of the auditorium. We were all on our feet, screaming and cheering, doing everything we could to show how much we appreciated what he had done.

He smiled, wiped the sweat from his brow, raised his bow to quiet us, and then he said, not boastfully, but in a quiet, pensive, reverent tone, “You know, sometimes it’s the artist’s task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left.”

What a powerful line that is. It has stayed in my mind ever since I heard it. And who knows? Perhaps that is the [way] of life – not just for artists but for all of us. Here is a man who has prepared all his life to make music on a violin of four strings, who, all of a sudden, in the middle of a concert, finds himself with only three strings. So he makes music with three strings, and the music he made that night with just three strings was more beautiful, more sacred, more memorable, than any that he ever made before, when he had four strings.

- Jack Riemer, Houston Chronicle


Cheryl’s Words:

My name is Cheryl Houston.

I am a cancer survivor.

Learning to see “how much music you can still make with what you have left”, as Mr. Perlman put it, has been the biggest task in my own journey back to life.

In March 2001, I suddenly fell ill, I had surgery, and in May 2001, it was confirmed that my diagnosis was cancer. At that moment, it felt like the floor had dropped out from under me, I felt helpless, my world had collapsed, I thought my life was over. I thought I had lost ALL my strings!

I was angry with God, and I felt betrayed, because I knew I had done nothing to cause my cancer. I had to rely on my faith, remembering a short passage I have always cherished, it goes:

“God’s will never takes us, where his Grace can’t sustain us”

The first thing a friend sent me was an article on Lance Armstrong. His story made me believe that I, too, could be a survivor, not just a “cancer patient”.

In my journey back to life, I learned that I don’t necessarily have to be “Cancer free” to be free of the burden of cancer – I leave that to my creator to deal with. I am this moment living with cancer, but cancer is no longer the force of my reality. LIFE IS!

I am learning to play my own music with what I have left. In my journey back to life, I learned that life is full of moments. Every moment I spend “being a cancer patient” is not for me, really living. But, when I appreciate every moment I have been given, as a precious gift to be cherished, then I find that my life is rich and fulfilling.

Every day, I thank God, the giver of life, for all the beautiful moments in my life.

As it turns out, I just finished a fun-filled season of learning to row – something I wanted to do before I found out I have cancer.

I finished my last chemotherapy this past January, and I am scheduled to begin chemo again this Tuesday. But this doesn’t stop me from making plans for next summer, when I expect to compete in my first race! In my mind, though, it isn’t about winning. It’s about picking-up where you left-off and enjoying what you have left.

To live and to celebrate life with all that I have left… that is my goal.

Thank you.