Lucy Speaks

Lucy was sick this week and in a twist of fate that would have been comical were it not for her painful throat, she lost her voice. Only those who know her personally can fully appreciate the magnitude of a speechless Lucy, but trust me when I tell you it is without precedent. It’s a world gone mad. It’s dogs and cats living together. It’s positively looney tunes. Lucy really likes to talk. She says a lot of words, usually at the exact moment they pop into her head and often in a quirky, freeform stream of consciousness that begs a bewildered, "Huh?"
 

As much as I enjoyed a few days of quiet, I have to admit I found her silence a little eerie. (Although perhaps not as eerie as the robotic voice of the type-to-talk translator she found online and used for the better part of Thursday morning.) There was an emptiness in the house where all her words should have been and I was delighted when she began to fill that space today. Lucy’s voice is back. And just like that, bedtime is an adventure again.

“I want to live with you forever, mom. Will you let me?” We were lounging in her bed, propped up on squishy pillows leaning against her headboard.

“Of course, Lucy.”

She looked relieved. “Then I can always be with you.” She paused, obviously pleased with the idea, before saying, “I’ll spend Thanksgiving with dad, though.”

“OK. But can we still watch the parade together?” I asked.

“Of course, but then I’ll go to dad’s for dinner.”

“Oh good,” I told her, “Because I don’t really like to cook a big meal anyway.”

“Maybe you could get a cupcake with a turkey on it and that can be your dinner.”

“That sounds perfect, Lu.”

She took a drink of water to quell a coughing fit and I took that opportunity to tell her she probably wouldn’t want to live with me forever. “You know, Lucy, you can live with me as long as you want to, but one day you’re going to want to move out and have your own life—your own home, your own family. You might have kids of your own too. We’ll still see each other, but we probably won’t live together.”

Then she started to cry.

I back-pedaled in the face of her tears, “Or maybe we will, Lu. Who knows? Maybe I’ll live with you and your family. I could help you out. I’m good at laundry.”

“What if I have 19 kids?” she asked.

“Then you’ll definitely want me to live with you. That’s a lot of laundry.”

Now she was on a roll. “We’ll have 20 bedrooms and 20 bathrooms.”

“Twenty bathrooms too?" I asked. "I hope we have Toto toilets. Toto never clogs."

Ignoring me completely, she forged on, “But we’ll need 21 bedrooms because I’ll have a room and you’ll have a room…”

I interrupted her with, “The twins can share a room,” as if a set of twins in this equation was a given.

She liked it. “Yeah – that’s a good idea.” She thought a little more, smiling to herself. “And we’ll have a unicorn. Can we have a unicorn, mom?”

“In the house we share with 19 kids? I don’t see why not, Lu.”

“Or maybe just a dog and we can tie a horn on him,” she said.

“Like in The Grinch?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“OK,” I said. “That might be easier.”

We sat in silence for a moment, pondering our bright future in the giant house with the 19 kids, 20 Toto toilets and a unicorn (or at least a dog with a horn tied to its head). Then I said, “You know, Lucy, you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine when you move out someday.” (OK, maybe “fine” is an exaggeration, but still.) “It’s not your job to worry about me being alone.”

“I know,” she said, “But I can’t help it.” And then she started to cry again. “I want to live with you forever, mom. Will you let me?”

I said, “Of course I’ll let you, Lucy,” and then I started to cry a little too. I told her good night and stood to leave.

“Hey mom?" she said, "I love you more than anything.”

“More than words can say?” I asked, grinning at her.

She giggled. “Even more than words can say.”

“I love you more than anything too, Lucy. I'm really glad we had this talk."

I think I might have missed Lucy's voice even more than she did.