I had first called Mr. Prier last summer, but he was out of the country for awhile. Then school started, the holidays came and went, and finally in January 2011, he and I were both available to meet.

His assistant asked if I had a record of the purchase or knew exactly how much my parents had paid for the violin. Unfortunately, I had no documentation. I’d never even seen any. I asked if they maintained records. She told me they did, but maybe not back “that far” (almost 30 years ago.) She told me not to worry, that it made things a little quicker if I had paperwork, but that they could figure things out without it.

As the day of our meeting approached, I occasionally wondered how my parents would feel about what I was going to do. Then I’d put that thought out of my mind. They were dead, it probably didn’t matter to them. I just hoped they would know of my continued appreciation for all they did for me, including my gratitude that they had even bought me a really good violin to help me in my violin studies but that was also going to be a help to me in my unexpected life.

Two days before my meeting with Peter Paul Prier, I noticed a box under my bed. For some reason, I’d never noticed that box before. I didn’t know what was in it so I pulled it out, opened it, and my eyes were drawn to a folded piece of paper on top of the box’s miscellaneous contents. I opened the paper and about fell over when I saw what it was.

On the upper corner was a black, line drawing of a violin maker bearing an eery resemblance to Geppetto, the toy maker from “Pinocchio.” That folded piece of paper was the original receipt of my parents’ purchase of my violin in 1982! Don’t ask me how it came to be in my possession. I never even knew it existed, much less that it was in my possession–especially after my dad had died, my mom had moved four times after that, I’d moved three times and then lived through a government seizure and a very chaotic move to Utah, and I’d even had a house flood! But with that little miracle, I decided to take it as a sign my parents would understand my decision to part with my violin.

“When suffering comes, we yearn for some sign from God, forgetting we have just had one.” (Mignon McLaughlin)