The Lost is Found

 

During the search for the lost violin, I had ducked under the heavy curtain separating a walk-in closet from a recording studio, then crawled under a chair and beneath a small table supporting a recording mic. Focusing the flashlight’s beam towards the diminishing wall supporting the stairs, all I could see was a motorcycle helmet, jacket and trousers folded on the floor.

But the mystery of the lost violin continued to play on my mind, and I had a feeling it could be there.

As time has passed, Don seemed to have an increasingly clear memory of who I had given it to, down to the detail of him carrying it to the car. That drew a blank in my mind. Mhairi had a memory of me discussing giving it to someone so it would be played, and a vague thought of who might have received it. In my mind, another blank. And that is what has really been bothering me. I just could not understand how I could have absolutely no memory of giving away my sister’s violin. Judy and I were very close. We spent hours together practicing, her on the violin, me on the cello, occasionally having a laugh when we switched instruments. Surely, I wouldn’t have been so casual, so cavalier, as to have given it away so lightly, so thoughtlessly, without spending a final moment with it. A memorable moment.

The recording studio has been partially dismantled this morning, the table and chair removed, affording greater access to the furthest recess. And lo and behold, beneath the motorcyclist’s garb rested Judy’s violin.

Hallelujah! What was lost has been found. It’s not on a par with the son who went rogue and then came back, but it’s certainly up there with the lost coin or the lost sheep.

I had made my peace with the loss, with the caveat that I hoped someone was enjoying playing it. What continued to rankle was the thought that I’d given it away so lightly, without sitting with it, as Marie Kondo suggests. Remembering sweet memories of childhood, those long, hot summer days with the two of us sawing away on our instruments. Maybe giving it a wee play in a very rudimentary way. Saying my goodbyes.

Yesterday, Bastille Day, was the 38^th anniversary of Judy’s death. Always a sad day, rich with memories. To start Monday with the discovery of her violin is beautiful. The Lord is close to the broken-hearted. Thank you, Lord, for your mercy and love.

Now I’ll just tune it up and squawk out a few notes.