The only thing that brought him joy during painful chemotherapy sessions was an old, worn-out violin gifted by a kind neighbor.
Lukasz had no formal training, no music teacher. Every day, he played the violin from memory, mimicking melodies he found on YouTube — especially the waltzes of André Rieu.
One day, a nurse quietly filmed Lukasz playing “The Second Waltz” from his hospital bed — the notes were imperfect, but the emotion was unmistakable. She posted it online, not expecting much.
Three days later, the hospital director received an unexpected phone call. It was from the personal assistant of… André Rieu.
No press, no publicity, no camera crew. Just a single message:
“I want to help this boy keep dreaming… even if just for a little while.”
A donation of €250,000, under an anonymous name, was transferred to the hospital — covering Lukasz’s treatment, special care, and a trip to the Netherlands for what doctors gently called “his dream goodbye.”
Weeks later, Lukasz, in a wheelchair, was brought to a private rehearsal with André Rieu’s orchestra in Maastricht. The hall fell completely silent as the boy was rolled onstage, clutching his old violin.
André said nothing. He just smiled softly and nodded.
Together, they began to play a quiet duet of “Amazing Grace.” The orchestra followed, gently, tenderly, as if afraid to break the fragile moment.
When the song ended, Lukasz threw his arms around André and cried. Not because of the performance. But because — for the first time in his life — he felt seen.
Epilogue:
Two months later, Lukasz passed away peacefully in his sleep. On the small table beside his bed was his violin, resting next to a handwritten note from André:
