Without a Song

By Lorie Ludwig

Music and singing have played a part of my life since I started taking piano lessons at the age of six.  This was followed by participation in church choir, school choir, band and playing the organ for church.  I sang the role of Despina, the tricky maid, in Mozart’s opera, Cosi Fan Tutti in a regional production in southwest Minnesota.  (Author Bill Holm was a cast mate.)  Singing was  a daily pastime, with many enjoyable hours sitting at the piano, accompanying myself while I sang.

 

College at age 35 didn’t change anything.  I reveled in the University of Minnesota’s School of Music, studying toward my degree in music therapy.  I sang my way through college, only suffering when I had to learn to play the violin.  Each practice session sent the neighborhood dogs into a howling fit!

 

My first music therapy job was at a nursing home.  I found my niche playing the piano and singing golden oldies with residents, using music to help them maintain the skills they have for as long as possible.  I got back into church choir and involved with SAI, a music fraternity for women that I joined during college.

 

Looking back, I now realize my vocal tremor first started to present itself when I was in college.   My tongue would tighten up when I sang and I couldn’t get it to relax – similar to the lump in the throat feeling you have when you suppress tears.  I was told to buck up and get over it.  It took almost four years for the tremor to overwhelm my singing voice, losing the ability to sing high notes first.  I sounded like a microphone with the reverb set on high when I sing and only when I sing.  It was time for professional help.  I saw a neurologist, a speech therapist and a vocal coach for voice lessons.

 

I learned that a vocal tremor is a neurological condition that is progressive and degenerative.  It will never go away and will only get worse.  I probably had it all my life but it took this long for the symptoms to reach a threshold and begin to show.   Now singing is no longer fun but physically painful and a trial.  I sing only long enough to get my residents to sing and grieve that I can no longer sing like I used to.

 

Why did it have to be singing, something so vital to my life and my job?   The grief was almost overwhelming.  I dropped out of church choir and started playing hand bells.  At the time of diagnosis, I was only working three hours a week as no one wanted to hire a music therapist who couldn’t sing.  I was even careful not to discuss this news with my music therapist colleagues lest they professionally ostracize me.

 

 

Ironically, music came to my aid.  I lost my ability to sing but not my musicality.  I started writing hymn lyrics.  My first tunes were about comfort because I was so sad.  Eventually I wrote a tune about a butterfly, symbolizing different stages in life.  Hopefully I could pupate into something better.  The final chorus is as follows:

 

So spread your wings and fly away,

Test out your wings without delay.

For this new life can’t turn the bend,

Until you let your old life end.

 

I had found a way to sing vicariously through others by writing hymn lyrics, even winning a hymn contest about the ordination of women within the Presbyterian Church.  After giving a presentation at my church about music therapy and hymn writing, I was commissioned by the Presbyterians for Disability Concerns to write a hymn about people with disabilities.

 

If given an option, I would choose singing again in a second.  However, that choice is not mine to make.  God is in charge and it is up to me to make the most of the gifts I have been given.  If I hadn’t lost my singing voice, I wouldn’t have become a hymn author.  I also relate to my residents with memory loss as I, too, have a progressive, degenerative neurological disorder.

 

My hymn writing has helped me heal and brought to my attention that I have been healed without being cured.  I have accepted my vocal tremor diagnosis and found inner peace.  Helping others is my best therapy.  If someone hears my story, they might be inspired to say, “If she can continue on, then so can I.”  Having a disabling condition is not the end of life as you know it.  Life is certainly different, but with God’s help, I have made lemonade and so can you.

 

Lorie Ludwig is a member of Westminster Presbyterian Church in Minneapolis.

 

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