eeeey I don't have any clue about Catholicism first of all, so anything I write concerning that is definitely going to be based off of my general knowledge (probably wrong) and/or google searches (probably wrong), also I haven't read the comics at all but I did google "who is daredevil's mother" and used the comics as reference to how/why she left
...
“For a brief moment I abandoned you, but with deep compassion I will bring you back. In a surge of anger I hid my face from you for a moment, but with everlasting kindness I will have compassion on you,” says the Lord your Redeemer.
-Isaiah 54:7-8
It’s the only time Matt ever sees his dad cry before the accident, and one of his earliest memories.
He remembers waking up to a strange sound, his feet finding the cold floor of their small apartment with a bit of hesitance. His subsequent walk to the kitchen is careful, his small legs unsure and unsteady, but knowing for some reason that he must be quiet.
His dad is there at the table when he peeks around the corner, holding a paper in his hand, crumpled around the edges. Matt had tried to be quiet, but he stumbles a little, and his dad always did know exactly what he was up to. You could never fool Jack Murdock.
“Matty,” his dad mumbles, less a question than a statement. There’s a sniff, and Matt is confused. It sounds like his dad’s crying, but he never cries. Matt cries all the time, about the cereal being gone, when his dad has bruises on his face, when he stubs his toe. Every time his dad pats him on his head, says to get it out, gotta move on, get back up. His dad never cries.
“Come here, kid.”
“Hey, you gotta be tough alright,” his dad told him only the day before, patting his head, but leaving in on the kitchen floor. He’d fallen trying to open the refrigerator, when the door had swung too fast, “you can sit there and cry or you can try again.”
His dad smiled at him from the kitchen table, “plus you look all silly when you’re crying like that. You’re gonna make me laugh!”
That had made Matt mad, and he’d balled up his fist and stuck his tongue out in rebuttal. His dad just laughed. He stopped crying.
His dad’s face looks kind of funny too, when he gets closer. It’s dark so he can’t really tell, but it looks like his eyes are definitely wet, and he’s beginning to feel more and more like he was right about his dad crying. It still doesn’t make sense. Why would his dad cry?
He climbs up in the chair. Crying was okay, but his dad didn’t think it was okay to pout. Matt knew that it was hard sometimes, to stop feeling sad. The paper in his hand has letters all over it, and Matt wishes he knew his letters already, that way he could understand what was the matter with his dad.
“I’m okay buddy,” his dad reassures him, grabbing his hand gently and setting the letter aside, “sorry I woke you up. Do you want a snack?”
He still doesn’t sound right, so Matt shakes his head and thinks really hard for a second. Then he squeezes his dad’s hand and pats him on the head, “you look kind of silly Daddy,” he mumbles, still sleepy.
“Yeah, I guess I do huh?”
Later, when he knows how to read and he understands more about the world, he finds the letter again. His dad has kept it, all these years, and it makes him feel like the paper is sacred, the words as important as the words in his bible. He doesn’t know if he should read it, but it’s still the only time that he’s seen his dad cry.
He wants to understand.
He’s asked his dad before, about what happened to his mom.
Your mom is gone kid. He’d say, she’s dead. I miss her, you would have loved her. She was lovely. Don't know what she ever saw in my ugly mug.
He sees his mom looking down on him when he goes to sleep, peering from heaven and making sure he’s okay. When he prays he sends his words to God and to his mother, hoping she’ll hear them as well.
FILL: For a Brief Moment (1/?)
...
“For a brief moment I abandoned you,
but with deep compassion I will bring you back.
In a surge of anger
I hid my face from you for a moment,
but with everlasting kindness
I will have compassion on you,”
says the Lord your Redeemer.
-Isaiah 54:7-8
It’s the only time Matt ever sees his dad cry before the accident, and one of his earliest memories.
He remembers waking up to a strange sound, his feet finding the cold floor of their small apartment with a bit of hesitance. His subsequent walk to the kitchen is careful, his small legs unsure and unsteady, but knowing for some reason that he must be quiet.
His dad is there at the table when he peeks around the corner, holding a paper in his hand, crumpled around the edges. Matt had tried to be quiet, but he stumbles a little, and his dad always did know exactly what he was up to. You could never fool Jack Murdock.
“Matty,” his dad mumbles, less a question than a statement. There’s a sniff, and Matt is confused. It sounds like his dad’s crying, but he never cries. Matt cries all the time, about the cereal being gone, when his dad has bruises on his face, when he stubs his toe. Every time his dad pats him on his head, says to get it out, gotta move on, get back up. His dad never cries.
“Come here, kid.”
“Hey, you gotta be tough alright,” his dad told him only the day before, patting his head, but leaving in on the kitchen floor. He’d fallen trying to open the refrigerator, when the door had swung too fast, “you can sit there and cry or you can try again.”
His dad smiled at him from the kitchen table, “plus you look all silly when you’re crying like that. You’re gonna make me laugh!”
That had made Matt mad, and he’d balled up his fist and stuck his tongue out in rebuttal. His dad just laughed. He stopped crying.
His dad’s face looks kind of funny too, when he gets closer. It’s dark so he can’t really tell, but it looks like his eyes are definitely wet, and he’s beginning to feel more and more like he was right about his dad crying. It still doesn’t make sense. Why would his dad cry?
He climbs up in the chair. Crying was okay, but his dad didn’t think it was okay to pout. Matt knew that it was hard sometimes, to stop feeling sad. The paper in his hand has letters all over it, and Matt wishes he knew his letters already, that way he could understand what was the matter with his dad.
“I’m okay buddy,” his dad reassures him, grabbing his hand gently and setting the letter aside, “sorry I woke you up. Do you want a snack?”
He still doesn’t sound right, so Matt shakes his head and thinks really hard for a second. Then he squeezes his dad’s hand and pats him on the head, “you look kind of silly Daddy,” he mumbles, still sleepy.
“Yeah, I guess I do huh?”
Later, when he knows how to read and he understands more about the world, he finds the letter again. His dad has kept it, all these years, and it makes him feel like the paper is sacred, the words as important as the words in his bible. He doesn’t know if he should read it, but it’s still the only time that he’s seen his dad cry.
He wants to understand.
He’s asked his dad before, about what happened to his mom.
Your mom is gone kid. He’d say, she’s dead. I miss her, you would have loved her. She was lovely. Don't know what she ever saw in my ugly mug.
He sees his mom looking down on him when he goes to sleep, peering from heaven and making sure he’s okay. When he prays he sends his words to God and to his mother, hoping she’ll hear them as well.
He sees the words in the letter, and he...
He wants to understand, but he doesn’t.