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DUET BOND continued from page 25 day her doctors perform MRIs and CT scans. They discover that cancerous tumors in her brain and spine are impeding her mobility, causing her legs to stiffen. And they're growing. She'll have to start radiation immediately, followed by chemotherapy and blood transfusions. Because living in the dorms is too risky, she'll have to make the daily 120-mile round-trip journey from her Indiana home. This time, though, Eshbaugh's not leaving school. "If I have to go to Pittsburgh every day," she tells her mother, "I'm going to class. I am not — I am NOT — staying home." For the next six months, in addition to the commute, Eshbaugh balances radiation, chemotherapy, and blood transfusions with studying, private voice lessons, and nights out with her friends. One of her professors tells her: "Lauren, your grades are so good, you're going to get an A in this class whether you take the final or not." Eshbaugh's reply? "I'm going to take the final." By April, the juggling gets harder. Eshbaugh begins losing the ability to walk — forced to use a walker, then a wheelchair. As her tumors grow and her health deteriorates, the School of Music students and faculty rally around her. No one would ever question the school's academic prowess; now, no one would question its heart. Her classmates make sure that whenever Eshbaugh arrives on campus, someone is there to meet her and push her to class; usually it's Burrows. And, in early April, the school throws a benefit concert in her honor. As the academic year nears the end, Eshbaugh pushes on with her schooling despite being so weak that she sometimes falls asleep while taking notes. One of her professors, Natalie Ozeas, tells her: "Lauren, your grades are so good, you're going to get an A in this class whether you take the final or not." Eshbaugh's reply? "I'm going to take the final." But just a few days after that vow, Eshbaugh enters hospice care. On a Sunday afternoon in 26 PAN PIPESSPRING 2012 sai-national.org early May, music professors Laura Knoop Very and Stephen Totter visit Eshbaugh in Indiana to deliver a book of handwritten letters from Eshbaugh's schoolmates. Her parents, at her bedside, choke back tears as they read them to her. On Tuesday, May 4, 2010 — just days shy of her twentieth birthday — Lauren Nicole Eshbaugh loses her battle with cancer. Three nights later, Burrows and a group of music students "take" the Fence in memory of their friend. They blast music, sing, dance, and cover the Fence from top to bottom in bright red paint, drawing the letters L-A-U-R-E-N on the posts. For the final touch, they inscribe "Choose to Be Happy," Eshbaugh's mantra, on the middle railing. The next morning, along with dozens of other sleep-deprived music majors, Burrows boards the university-organized bus that will carry them to Eshbaugh's funeral. She sits alone for the 60-minute ride. Recordings of Eshbaugh singing fill the church. A bouquet of pink roses adorns her casket. Her professor, Knoop Very, sings. Doves are released at the cemetery. After the service, Eshbaugh's parents hug Burrows. "She never took the bracelet off," Eshbaugh's mother tells her. "She's buried with it." Burrows, grieving when she arrives in Tucson for summer break, volunteers in the oncology ward of a local hospital for the American Cancer Society. She shares information with cancer patients about resources available to them, coping methods, and, of course, Eshbaugh's story — how her best friend never stopped fighting. Never. Volunteering helps Burrows grieve, but returning to Carnegie Mellon in fall 2010 for her junior year is hard. Some classmates are further along in the grieving process. She considers taking a leave of absence. But then she thinks about her friend who never gave up. She won't either. Throwing herself into extracurricular activities, she becomes the events chair for the Carnegie Mellon "Relay for Life" and soon discovers she's a natural at it. They need someone to sing the national anthem. She knows just who to call. Bagpipes? Got it. "I ended up asking all my friends to perform," she says. "And since so many musicians and performers were so close to Lauren, they were all very happy to come and be a part of it." She even joins in, singing "Amazing Grace" in four-part harmony with three classmates. In the spring, Burrows performs with the Pittsburgh Pops All-Star College Chorus conducted by Grammy, Tony, Emmy, and Oscar winner Marvin Hamlisch. She also heads a new College of Fine Arts fundraiser: "Mr. Beaux Arts," a lighthearted version of a male beauty pageant. She does this while preparing for her junior recital, her most important performance yet. She saves the last line in her recital dedication page for the person who couldn't make it: To my Lauren — I truly have an angel with me tonight. Miss you every day, girlfriend. At the end-of-year School of Music awards ceremony, the faculty announces the establishment of the Lauren Eshbaugh Memorial Award, created to honor music students who embody the qualities of Eshbaugh: academic achievement, musicianship, kindness, and support among musicians. The junior class inaugural winner — Jamie Burrows. After the ceremony, she hugs Eshbaugh's parents, whom she hasn't seen since the funeral. They ask her what she plans to do with the award money. She says it will help pay for her summer plans — a seven-week professional program in France, where she'll sing alongside opera legends and gain her first professional opera credits. The award's timing is divinely serendipitous: she'd otherwise be unable to afford the trip. Now back in Pittsburgh for her senior year, Burrows' walks have changed from French cliffside hikes to strolls through nearby Schenley Park. Unlike the naive freshman on that campus bench four years ago, Burrows says she's now prepared to handle whatever the future holds. That includes being among the performers for the upcoming Benedum Center and Carnegie Hall celebration concerts for the School of Music's Centennial Anniversary. After she graduates in May, she's not sure what's next. Because of her tiny size, she'll probably get cast as a child for some time. But the young woman within is now anything but small. She knows that on one staircase step, everything can change. But always, she can choose to be happy. Nicholas Ducassi, an actor, writer, and filmmaker, is a regular contributor to Carnegie Mellon Today. Editor's note: Lauren Nicole Eshbaugh was initiated as a member of Alpha Mu in April 2010, just two weeks before she succumbed to cancer.

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