The word came in last night. My boy, my son, is a hero. He saved the future and past, as well as the present. He saved the whole world, and all the universe. Basically, he is one of the biggest figures in all of history. And I'm not sure how I feel about that.
A student at thirteen, and a savoir at seventeen. He's only been mine for eleven years. And now I have to share him with humanity? It doesn't seem fair. And my biggest fear? It's a selfish one; what if, somewhere out there, a woman is regretting giving up her son seventeen years ago? And what if she sees the news one day, the pictures in the paper, or hears the radio broadcasting his interviews? What if she realizes that he has her eyes or that she'd given him his name? What if she wanted to be back in his life?
I try not to worry. Zell isn't a little kid whose alliances can be swayed. He is grown up now, old enough to meet the woman who'd given him life while still loving the woman who helped him live it.
I remember coming home with him, a bawling six year old. It was dumb, risky, to adopt an obviously 'troubled' kid. He cried for days, and I held him, even though he wasn't calling out for me. I saw past his tears, into his big blue eyes and carefree face and I knew that he'd get better. He was just a little sad.
And I was right. Within two years he was bright and bubbly and bouncing off the walls. He was a good kid, helpful, happy, just a little energetic. Days like those I even forgot that he wasn't biologically mine. He was such a part of my life that it was irrelevant, and it never even crossed my mind. And thus, I never told him.
He'd been the one to confront me about it, actually. I didn't ask how he knew, and he didn't bring it up.
"Why didn't you tell me, Ma?" He seemed genuinely distraught.
"Because it never mattered, Zell. You've always been my son, in my eyes."
He looked down, picking at his gloves. "Why'd you pick me?"
"Because you needed me the most," I answered simply. "And there was something about you, as a person, as a child. I couldn't look away." I cupped his cheek with my hand. "I love you, Zell. That's never changed."
He nodded, looking up at me, his spark back. "Thanks. For picking me."
"Thanks for treating me like your mother." We embraced and I kissed him, hoping that was the end of it.
The reporters came to talk to me today. I was really the only 'mother' available to interview. One of them asked if it changed things, the fact that my son was adopted. I shut the door in his face. Just because the first time I held him he was six years old, or the fact that I didn't feel him kicking inside of me (which is probably a good thing, the boy is a powerhouse), or just because I can't pick my features out of his face doesn't mean that I love him less that his birth mother did.
It means that I love him more.
0-FIN-0
Because Zell is awesome, and mothers are awesome. 'Nuff said.
I don't own FF8. I wish I did. It would make me the most awesome person to ever live.