“What do you think Sophie’s voice would sound like if she could talk?” JP, my ten-year old, asked at the breakfast table today. Sophie is our cat who goes missing. While we were on vacation a few weeks ago she ended up at animal control aka kitty jail. We want to outfit her with a feline-video head cam and a GPS to track her travels.

Sophie hadn’t been seen for a few days when JP posed his question. I like that he can think in the abstract and then really ponder his own absurd questions.

But his question caught me too. I was standing at the sink washing a piece of chocolate chip pancake, glued to a plate with maple syrup, down the drain. Staring into the garbage disposal as water and pancake vanished, I realized I’d been searching for a voice for several years.

Merritt, our youngest daughter, has a mitochondrial disease. Her cells don’t produce energy and although she turns five next month, she lives her simple life like a three month old. She doesn’t say a word. No coos or babbles.

When her crisis came and smacked me in the face four years ago, I realized that unless I wanted to be pitied, I’d better make sure people heard Merritt’s voice. A tiny yet mighty sound that said, “I may be quiet, but I can touch your world.” Speaking for Merritt became my new challenge.

At Starbucks this week the woman behind me was staring at Merritt, a floppy little rag doll lying in my arms. “I can’t believe she can sleep like that,” she said just before she realized Merritt was wide awake.

“Oh, she has a genetic disease, she’s always floppy,” I replied.

“Oh, I’m sorry, that must be so hard,” she stuttered as she blushed from embarrassment.

“No, she’s my fourth child and actually she’s my easiest.”

We had a lovely conversation and I know Merritt’s voice told this woman there is beauty and love in things that are difficult.

I hope you all get to hear more of Merritt’s voice in Lessons from the Laundry and on this blog. Are you speaking for anyone today? Let me know about your voice, or if you have any good ideas for how to keep track of a delinquent cat.

Fondly,
Kathy