Children,

 

I thought I did my best. I thought I gave you all that I could give. But apparently—that wasn't well enough. When I hear what Jacob did—or what the witness claims he did—it just tears me up inside like somethin' burnin'.

 

Because—I was always there—I picked him up from school; I took him to his lessons; I spoke well of his dad—and then . . . Did the papers get it right? Did he really do those things? Did he really—? God and heaven—say he didn't. I don't think that I could live—knowing that I spawned an evil child.

 

And Little Lesty Lucy—what's the cake with you? They say your child's been put in foster care again? That you left him in the car—while you went in to T.J.'s—and the temperture creeped up to 95? And that was in the shade. In the car—the newsman said—it must have been one-hundred seventeen. When they pulled him from the car they said he looked just like a lobster—with his blood all flushed, about to burst his face. And you—you saw the cops and hightailed out to Sandman's Cove—you know that's not the Christian way of restitution— There's an APB tonight. They've set dogs upon your trail—but that ain't nothing in comparison to Tilly.

 

Tilly, what went wrong? Why'd you leave us in the house? Why'd you go off and live out in that trailer? And those dogs your boyfriend got—why did you have to make those movies? Can't you take 'em off the Internet—please? Or change your name at least—use a fake name in the credits—so those people at the office let it go. Tongue-Tied Tilly and Bukkake Under-Cover—then there's Tilly Blows a Mastiff. God have mercy for us— When our family goes to church—you see the fingers point and lips flap and they point and flap throughout the frickin' service. And Delbert's boy—Fricacious—one time asked me for your panties—said he'd give me twenty dollars for a pair.

 

I thought I did what's right. I loved you all. I cared. For what—dear Lord, I ask you now—for what? I was mother. I was father. Do I ever get a thank you? Do I ever get a Mom, you shouldn't have? Do I ever go a week without your picture(s) on the tele— Do I ever speak your name(s)— not in vain?

 

The answer's no.

 

So hereby take your notice: Through the power of the court, you are ordered not to come in contact with me via email, via phone, or come within a 100 metre circle of the house. Should you do so, the police will have you forcibly removed.

 

Regretfully yours,

 

Your loving, sucky Mother

 

P.S. If I could do this once again, I wouldn't leave you in the woods (as per my letter from last week)—no, Sir. I'd beat you all to death with Daddy's shovel.