I don't own Batman Beyond, its characters, plotlines, any WB stock, or
copyright. All I own is some balls of yarn and Halloween fabric, so please
don't sue.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
You're not home. Again.
You should be here, asleep in your bed. But instead, you're out with Mr. Wayne, doing God knows what. You're nearly grown, but a mother still worries.
I remember the day you were born. Your father and I tried for a year to get pregnant, and finally you arrived. When the nurse laid you on my body, I looked down and thought how small you were, screaming and shivering against me. You needed me like a fish needs water. And I was terrified that I couldn't give you everything you needed. I was scared I couldn't raise you to become a good man someday.
I remember when you and your father came to visit me and Matt in the hospital. You were only seven, but were so gentle with him, making sure his head was supported. In that moment, looking at you and your brother, I thought that my life was perfect. It didn't matter that your father and I fought so much the year earlier, or that he actually moved out for a few weeks. You and Matt held something so pure, so true, for our family that we were sure to work things through.
All I wanted was to be a good wife and a good mother. Well pretty soon I'd have to accept that I wasn't a good wife. The divorce knocked me down, more than I ever let on to you. Just be a good mother to the boys, I kept telling myself, over and over, every single day. It didn't matter that I just wanted to lie down and cry for a year, there were lunches to make, laundry to do. God knows, I never wanted a broken home for you. You and Matt deserved the best, and all we did was screw it up.
I can't really blame you for getting into trouble, even though it broke my heart. After going back to work, you just didn't get enough attention from me. I tried, but I was so exhausted that I would just be irritated and snappy at you. I kept telling myself to go to church, pray to God for more patience, energy, or some kind of miracle. In the end, I don't know how much that would even help. You moved out, and I had to face another failure - good moms don't have sons that go to jail and then leave home.
When your father died, I thought I couldn't go on living. So many times, I thought about just ending it all. How easy would it be, to drive over the President's Bridge and just make a wild right turn? Or to take a whole bottle of sleeping pills? Maybe you didn't need me so much, but Matt certainly did, and that kept me alive. Shake it off, and be a good mom to those boys, I told myself. So I put my head down and kept going. One day, I told myself, I will look up and all this will be behind me, and the sun will shine again.
I thought I saw the sun when Mr. Wayne came to our house to offer you a job. I jumped at the offer, do you remember? What did I get you into? I never see you anymore, he calls and you leave without a word, and when you come back, sometimes you're limping. I know you try to hide it, but I can see. A mother knows her babies. I've seen the bruises, the dark circles under your eyes. Are you fighting again, or what is he making you do? What did he mean when he said "welcome to my world"? What the hell kind of world are you living in, just to help me put a roof over our head?
How can I take this money?
You don't know, but this is killing me, Terry. You're involved in something bizarre and dangerous, and I don't know what it is. It's enough to drive me to drink. But I won't, because there are lunches to make, laundry to do. I suppose I owe it to you and Matt for keeping me alive through all this.
Just promise me that I won't lose you. I know I couldn't bear it.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
You're not home. Again.
You should be here, asleep in your bed. But instead, you're out with Mr. Wayne, doing God knows what. You're nearly grown, but a mother still worries.
I remember the day you were born. Your father and I tried for a year to get pregnant, and finally you arrived. When the nurse laid you on my body, I looked down and thought how small you were, screaming and shivering against me. You needed me like a fish needs water. And I was terrified that I couldn't give you everything you needed. I was scared I couldn't raise you to become a good man someday.
I remember when you and your father came to visit me and Matt in the hospital. You were only seven, but were so gentle with him, making sure his head was supported. In that moment, looking at you and your brother, I thought that my life was perfect. It didn't matter that your father and I fought so much the year earlier, or that he actually moved out for a few weeks. You and Matt held something so pure, so true, for our family that we were sure to work things through.
All I wanted was to be a good wife and a good mother. Well pretty soon I'd have to accept that I wasn't a good wife. The divorce knocked me down, more than I ever let on to you. Just be a good mother to the boys, I kept telling myself, over and over, every single day. It didn't matter that I just wanted to lie down and cry for a year, there were lunches to make, laundry to do. God knows, I never wanted a broken home for you. You and Matt deserved the best, and all we did was screw it up.
I can't really blame you for getting into trouble, even though it broke my heart. After going back to work, you just didn't get enough attention from me. I tried, but I was so exhausted that I would just be irritated and snappy at you. I kept telling myself to go to church, pray to God for more patience, energy, or some kind of miracle. In the end, I don't know how much that would even help. You moved out, and I had to face another failure - good moms don't have sons that go to jail and then leave home.
When your father died, I thought I couldn't go on living. So many times, I thought about just ending it all. How easy would it be, to drive over the President's Bridge and just make a wild right turn? Or to take a whole bottle of sleeping pills? Maybe you didn't need me so much, but Matt certainly did, and that kept me alive. Shake it off, and be a good mom to those boys, I told myself. So I put my head down and kept going. One day, I told myself, I will look up and all this will be behind me, and the sun will shine again.
I thought I saw the sun when Mr. Wayne came to our house to offer you a job. I jumped at the offer, do you remember? What did I get you into? I never see you anymore, he calls and you leave without a word, and when you come back, sometimes you're limping. I know you try to hide it, but I can see. A mother knows her babies. I've seen the bruises, the dark circles under your eyes. Are you fighting again, or what is he making you do? What did he mean when he said "welcome to my world"? What the hell kind of world are you living in, just to help me put a roof over our head?
How can I take this money?
You don't know, but this is killing me, Terry. You're involved in something bizarre and dangerous, and I don't know what it is. It's enough to drive me to drink. But I won't, because there are lunches to make, laundry to do. I suppose I owe it to you and Matt for keeping me alive through all this.
Just promise me that I won't lose you. I know I couldn't bear it.
