Recently, I took my father-in-law’s childhood violin from where it had been in storage for decades to see what the years had done to it. Although it was in a sturdy double case, the violin had still suffered greatly. The strings were broken and the bow head severed, splaying horse hair in all directions. But to me, even before being restored, the violin is a reminder of the young and talented musician who once coaxed achingly lovely music from it’s slender frame.