You might think it’s weird to give your violin a name, but not me. I mean, when you get right down to it, how is it any different than naming a doll or a stuffed animal? The important thing is that you love them.
That’s why, when Grandpa passed down his beloved violin to me on my thirteenth birthday, I knew I had to name it something special. It was his most precious possession and when he placed it in my arms, I cradled it like a newborn baby. I spent the next day scrolling through baby naming books, and when I spotted the name Lev, I instantly knew it was the one. Lev means heart in Hebrew, and that is exactly what the gift meant to me. Sometimes, when I practiced my lessons, Grandpa would chuckle and say, “There go Livie and Lev, the dynamic duo.”
At the time, I didn’t understand what he meant, but like a superhero, Lev helped me through some very difficult situations. Like when my mom would come to stay with us. Mom had a tricky relationship with drugs, and when I was five, she dropped me off at Grandpa’s house and didn’t come back. I remember being really confused at first, but also happy. Our apartment had cockroaches the size of mice and I had been scared all the time. When a few days passed and Grandpa realized I was there to stay, he quit the Brooklyn Philharmonic and took a job as a high school music teacher so he’d be home every night. He told me he was happy to do it, but sometimes, when he was listening to music, I could see a deep sadness in his eyes.
Meanwhile, the biggest hiccup growing up was when Mom would come to visit. Grandpa was such a softie, and mom knew just how to take advantage. She would wrap her arms around grandpa’s waist and sob, “This time will be different, Daddy. I promise,” and he would always let her move back in. Sometimes she would stay for a while and act like a mom. She’d do my hair in the morning and make my favorite breakfast and I’d be so happy. Then, just as a kernel of hope crept in, she would disappear again. Sometimes with Grandpa’s wallet. One time, when I was fourteen, she left in the middle of the night with the ring Grandma left me.
Those were the times Lev helped me the most. With my heart heavy as a boulder, I would hold the violin under my chin and guide the bow over the strings. I would play songs like “Everybody Hurts” and “Un-break My Heart,” over and over again, singing at the top of my lungs until my throat ached, and my fingers went numb.
When my pity party was over, I would go into the living room where Grandpa would be waiting for me. He would wrap his arms around me and murmur that my mom didn’t love drugs more than she loved me, and that drug addiction was a disease that was nobody’s fault. When I was done crying, he would make me a cup of hot chocolate and we’d watch a movie together. Afterwards, he’d tuck me into bed and sing me a lullaby, just like when I was a baby.
Mom died of an overdose just before my eighteenth birthday, Grandpa and I were the only ones at her funeral. We stood together in front of the casket and played “Tears in Heaven” until we didn’t have any tears left.
After Mom passed, I decided to study psychology and become an addiction counselor; I felt like if I helped even one child get back a healthy parent, everything I went through would be worth it. I still loved playing the violin, though. I joined a local band and Lev and I played in clubs on Saturday nights. That’s where I met Miles; I always had a soft spot for guitarists.
Miles and I married in a small ceremony in his parent’s backyard surrounded by his loving family. I wore a long, white lace gown and Grandpa beamed as he walked me down the aisle. After the ceremony, Grandpa and I played “Sunrise, Sunset” together while our friends and families danced under the moonlight. At the end of the song Grandpa put down his violin and cried. I thought it was because he was proud of me, but in retrospect, I think it was because he felt relieved I wouldn’t be alone. He wouldn’t have to hang on for me anymore. He died two weeks after the wedding and at his funeral I played, “Wind Beneath my Wings.” Hundreds of his friends and former students came to pay their respects.
For a long time after that, I didn’t pick up the violin at all. Lev sat in his case in the closet, wrapped in grandpa’s favorite sweater. When I began shutting down, Miles helped me find a grief counselor, and all the sadness of losing my grandpa, and all the pain and rage caused by my mother came pouring out. As the tears poured out in torrents, I began to understand many things about myself, like how strong I was and why Grandpa called us the dynamic duo. As it turns out Lev not only means heart, but it also means lion, and I soon found the strength to cradle Lev in my arms once again.
It’s been two years now since Grandpa died, and Miles and I are expecting our first baby. Each night, as I play “Can’t Help Falling in Love” to my swollen belly, I can feel my grandpa’s love surrounding us. We’re going to name our little boy Benjamin, after Grandpa, and one day Lev will belong to him. He can re-name it whatever he wants.
Peggy Gerber hails from Teaneck, NJ and enjoys reading, traveling, and anything magical. Most mornings you’ll find her indulging her love of weird things by writing stories of time travel, friendly aliens, and other phantasmagoria. Her recently published book of speculative fiction short stories, entitled ONCE UPON A TIME MACHINE, is available now.
If you want to keep EDF around, Patreon is the answer.
