The piano, a family heirloom, was my parents’ first piece of furniture. I grew up swinging my legs on that bench. The cello was part of my father’s vast collection of instruments. In the afternoons after school, I would huff on a flute or saxophone, strum a guitar or banjo, and saw on my little violin and this antique cello.

It got crushed in storage after my father retired, along with many of his dreams, as cancer took center stage with an angry tune. I couldn’t rescue him, but I rescued the cello, and Mark took it to a luthier for repair.

Today it found its way home. A piano and a cello. Old friends reunited. Aged and cracked, but with tones still rich and full.