Old gifts

I got a call from the woman in our apartment building office, saying that we had received a package. I figured it was something for rafaela, whose birthday is next week, but it turned out to be addressed to me, something from my mother. Inside was a great deal of foam rubber and other padding, and in the middle of that, an old violin. Dusty, strings askew, far from playable.

My grandfather's. My inheritance.

I never heard him play a single note on the thing—it had been relegated to wall decor ages ago—but I knew when my mother suggested it that it was the thing I wanted to remember him by. Odd, that. I have no idea where to put it or what to do with it now, but I'm glad it's in my hands. The first violin I've ever owned, with a boxful of history I'll never hear.

I'll take my blessings where I can find them. Thanks, Grandpa.