A German Lullaby

“Yes, I’ve always wanted to learn German. I think I may pick up some books when we’re back at home,” my grandmother—Memo—pondered this resolution as she looked at me with a wry smile.

“German is so tough. I had to sing a German song for my vocal lessons this semester, and the lyrics were so difficult to remember. Once I got it though, it was super fun to sing,” I responded, breathing a sigh of relief that that semester was over.

Memo’s smile had broken into a full grin. “Oh, and which song was this?”

“It was Brahms’ lullaby with the German lyrics so it was called ‘Wiegenlied’.” I could feel my cheeks heating in anticipation of what I simultaneously hoped and didn’t want to happen.

“Why don’t you sing it for us, Tal?” my grandfather piped in from the other room. There it was: the request. I had half a mind to back out of it—I wasn’t warmed up or prepared to give a perfect performance at that moment. But then I realized: what did I have to lose? Singing is something I love to do, and I had a chance to share it with my far-away grandparents.

“Alright, I can do that,” and with a deep, supported breath I began, “Guten abend gut nacht…” I put as much expression and passion into those foreign words as my little body could muster, letting the melody flow out like it was attached to a continuous string that encircled my grandparents in an enormous embrace. Unbeknownst to me, tears had begun to form in their eyes. When the song finished, Memo looked at me with a proud, knowing expression.

“Talon,” she said, “I think you’ve found your voice.”

Little was I to know that a few short weeks later, Memo would be laying in a hospital bed, unresponsive, after suffering a stroke in their living room. No one knew what to do; I was so far away that I couldn’t help at all. My dad flew out to them. The rest of us waited for what we thought was inevitable.

Ever the fighter, Memo woke up, and I got a message from my dad, “Hey Kiddo, would you mind sending a recording of that German song you sang for Memo? She keeps asking for it.” Of all the things she could have asked for, she wanted me to sing her the German song! I was astounded, but I immediately recorded it into my phone. If this was a way I could be of assistance in this tough circumstance, then I would do it, no questions asked. My dad sent me back a video of her listening to the recording. That wry smile traced the edges of her lips as they moved to the music, and her eyes closed to reveal an overwhelming level of peace had been reached within her. Later, my grandfather told me that they both listened to the recording numerous times, as a tool for calming their worries and for encouragement during the healing process. My Memo has had to relearn how to talk and walk, but I am happy to report that she is progressing miraculously quickly, as if the whole ordeal was simply a bad dream.

This experience struck a major chord with me (no pun intended). While studying and preparing for a career, there is a dominating temptation to confine our developments to the classroom and not let them into the outside world until they are full formed by the university standard. However, if I would have declined to share my talents with my grandparents, I would have had nothing tangible to give them in their hour of need. This experience, however unfortunate, reinvigorated my passion for music. Indeed, my performance was not technically groundbreaking or perfect by any means, but it filled a need in my sphere of influence. And isn’t that ultimately what we seek to do in life—fill the needs of those around us?