I always knew somewhere deep inside me that the day would come. Being diagnosed with a chronic illness at age 12 has been difficult enough. As I joke, I call Muscular Dystrophy the gift that keeps on taking. Taking my ability to run, then climb stairs, then walk, then transfer on my own, then drive a regular car, then put me in a power wheelchair, then having to modify my bathroom, outside and inside of my house, pay out of pocket for an elevator in my home, have someone do my laundry, cook my meals, help me shower, get dresses, get in and out of bed, add more and more meds, make me hold my breath each year when doctors check my heart function, be carried by friends, get help in the bathroom, and finally, through no want or desire of my own, alter my teaching assignment since the people in charge of me decided (without ever asking) that I was too handicapped to teach band. ALL of this, and you rarely, if ever, hear me complain.
Earlier this spring though….spring of 2021, the toughest challenge of all smacked me in the head, hands, feet, and heart. Beginning as a hobby in the fall of 1983, a full 2 years before I even knew anything was wrong inside my body, I began playing drums. By age 14, it was a full blown obsession and something I was very good at. Hell, it was the thing in my life I was best at: IT DEFINED ME.
1983-2021: My percussion career. March 2021, I packed up my 1954 four piece Gretsch jazz kit. She doesn’t sing anymore because I can’t play her. Can’t hold the sticks, hard as I try, with gloves, velcro, tape, etc…..gone. Every muscle in my muscle memory is gone. I knew it was coming but I didn’t believe it. Like the way we all know that someday we will die, but most of us don’t actually truly believe that either…..at least not today. Well, today part of me, a big part of me has died. To all my musician friends. I love the grooves, memories, melodies, and smiles we created. I love the relationships we forged in friendship and in notes. I love the inside musical jokes (it’s on the “e” of 9) and the philosophical discussions of the art. I was talking about all of this with a friend recently and he looked me over and remarked: “Man, I’m so sorry….how weird that every note, lick, groove, beat, and song….it’s all only in your head now.”
I had a good cry after that one. Musician friends: play today, play now because you can. Play now because it’s fun. Play now because it brings joy. I can’t hit my drums. Someday it will happen to you. I hope it is a far off day, because believe me when I tell you: it sucks.
Patrick moeschen 
“YOUR MY HERO NEPHEW .AND ALSO TO COUNTLESS OTHER S YOU HAVE HELPED.”
Wow. Poignant words, my friend. Arthritis is challenging me but hearing this makes me insanely grateful to be able to play through the discomfort. I consider myself very lucky to have spent a few years being blessed with the opportunity to rock with you. Those are some of the best memories of my childhood. And I sincerely hope you can find other ways to still keep the fire burning. Perhaps you can program some beats and we can use them to write a song together all these years later. What say you? Virtual Euphoria reunion?
Poignant words, my friend. I find myself complaining about arthritis affecting my hands and then I read this and instantly become insanely grateful that I can play through the discomfort. It pains me to hear that this has been taken from you. Yet I am honored and humbled to have been granted the opportunity to make music with you for several years. Those are some of my favorite memories of my teenage years. You’re a stubborn guy that generally won’t take “no” for an answer – I hope you can find a way to continue feeding the fire. Perhaps you can program drum parts electronically? Which means we could collaborate. Which means we could have at least a partial virtual Euphoria reunion. What say you? Sounds like a fun winter project if you ask me.
I’m down.
This makes me think that you need to come over and listen to Sean on his electric drums and of course have some cold ones! ❤️