Mocking jays always lingered outside the window in the morning, singing their beautiful song. When they first showed up, I'd wake up earlier than I normally would just to listen to the new song they'd come up with. It was almost as if they were all a choir, making up songs and practicing throughout the night.

After days that seemed like months, instead of waking up to listen to the song I'd shoo them away. Why? I personally do not know.

Father's voice always scared me when I was younger, it was so rough and scratchy. He wasn't a bad person, no, he was kind. He always cared about our servants, frequently giving them the day off to tend to their own family members.

Oh and my servants? They were so caring of me. Father was always busy, it seemed like he was never around. Because of this I ended up being raised by my servants. I still saw father, he just didn't have time to spend with me.
But on my birthday everyone would get together, father included, and sang me a Happy Birthday. Now, not everyone was the best singer there, but it was the thought that counted right?

On my twelfth birthday, father got me a puppy. He had just been born a few days prior, so he couldn't open his eyes just yet. He was a fluffy dog, his fur a mesmerizing show white. I couldn't wait to show him to you.

I begged father to drive us to the graveyard, although we had just gotten back a few hours before. I just couldn't wait until the next time we went to visit you to show you Plue! I don't remember the reason I decided to name him Plue, it was an odd name after all. But I was merely a child, and maybe the name appealed to me at the time.

Thinking back, maybe things would be different today if I had just waited. I could have waited, the next day wasn't too far away. If I just waited things wouldn't be the way they are now.

If I just waited to show you, if I wasn't so god damn persistent, then maybe just maybe, things wouldn't be the way they are now.

The things I would do to hear the mocking jays songs one more time, moving my head to the beat. To hear my father's scratchy voice, and maybe now I wouldn't think it was so scary. The things I would give to hear everyone singing me the Happy Birthday song, even for just one day. Everyone singing off-key, trying to keep up with one another.

Even if it was just for one day, I'd take it.

But why? Why me? The first morning I woke up, I didn't hear anything, and I thought, "Finally, those stupid birds are gone." But I wasn't in my bedroom, no, the room was white with IV's everywhere.

The paper hospital dress was rough, scratching against my skin. And the bed? Oh the bed was so uncomfortable. It felt as though I was sleeping on a bed of rocks. And when the doctors came inside, I could see their mouths moving but I couldn't hear anything.

And I specifically remember thinking to myself, why can't I hear them?

When they noticed I was awake, they simply smiled and walked over, beginning to ask me a series of questions. Why couldn't they realize that I couldn't hear them?

I had raised my hand, pointing to my ear. I tried signaling to them that I couldn't hear anything they were saying, and when they realized what I meant I could see their faces fall with disappointment.

I was deaf, and they couldn't do anything to help me. They told father that there was very little chance that I would develop my hearing back after a few years, but I had given up hope as soon as I realized I was deaf.

I learned sign language with father, and it became easier to communicate with him. He took more time off work to spend with me, and while it was nice I couldn't help but feel as though I was a burden. He had gotten me hearing aids shortly after the accident.

They helped a bit, but not completely. With them I could only hear a faint whisper of something if it was loud enough. I became accustomed to focusing on the vibrations of items. For example, when a door shut. I could feel the vibrations of the door.

I could hear the beat of the music if it was loud enough, oh how I miss listening to music.

I took it all for granted, didn't I? I didn't appreciate the mocking jays, I shouldn't have been so scared of father's voice. I should've listened more, laughed more. I don't remember how my own voice sounds anymore. Maybe if I payed more attention I would, wouldn't I?

I remember watching videos of you and hearing your voice, I can't even remember your voice. And maybe I should have paid more attention, maybe I should have realized how lucky I was to be able to hear. But, sadly, I didn't.

Even if I say I've given up hope on hearing, maybe I haven't. I still wake up hoping to hear their songs, to listen to the story they told as they sang. To wake up and hear everyone come into my room singing Happy Birthday. To watch videos of you, and hear your voice one last time.

I'm asking for too much, aren't I? Life works in mysterious ways, does it not? Perhaps life thought that mine wasn't as important as the rest and that is why I am so unlucky.

I am not Lucky Lucy, am I mother? No, not anymore.
~ Your daughter, Lucy.