The End of Blame: Chapter 32

It was very quiet in Dublin Hospital.  Todd vaguely remembered being there, when he weakly clung to life after his fight to the finish with Michael Leona.  Leona.  The little boy who tortured cats and grew up at the Sanctuary of the Child Orphanage with Zeus Zelenko.  He almost could laugh if it weren't so sick and ghastly, like everything else about his life.


The elevator had the "hospital smell" that seemed to be the same in whatever country a person was in.  To him, it had always brought the same feeling: a kind of sickening, nauseating harping in the pit of the stomach, and some kind of elusive pity in the mind and heart.  The door opened to the cancer ward.  Todd stepped out, and at first getting his bearings, was able to read a wall sign directing him to the room number Blair gave him.  Following the arrows, he came upon a room that was gray and lonely, with just a withering man in a bed.  That man was Timothy Broderick.  He was asleep, and before Todd entered, he stopped, taking a deep breath, and preparing himself the best he could.


He stepped into the doorway, and for a moment, wanted to make a run for it.  Instead, he stood, like a boy, just looking at the man, who slept, silently, and breathed through nose tubes.  Without warning, Timothy opened his eyes, first fixing them on the ceiling, and then, slowly, turning his head toward the doorway.  He didn't speak, he just smiled weakly.  Todd approached his bed.  "Todd," he said, his brogue lilting.


He decided to pull out all of the stops.  "Hey, Broderick.  I've heard of trying to get attention, but this is just a bit much."


The older man laughed, despite his condition.  "I knew I could count on ya for a smartass line like that one, my Lad."


"You expected something different?"  Todd said, sitting in the chair next to the bed.


Timothy coughed, and said, "No, never.  Not from the likes of ya, my boy."


The room fell silent.  Todd said, "I'm out of good one-liners."


"It doesn't matter," the man looked toward him, his eyes glistening.  "That woman of yours, she must really rate.  She got ya to come here to see these old bones."


"She rates, always has, always will, but I decided to come myself."


"I'm glad that ya did," he said, taking a ragged breath.  "It's good to see ya.  We didn't leave off well with each other."


Todd shook his head 'no.'  "We didn't.  Not at all."


'Ya told me to never come near you or your family again.  I listened to ya.  But then, life had other plans for me."


Todd swallowed.  He said, "I guess it did.  I really came here, because, I . . ."


The man reached his hand out and rested it on Todd's forearm.  "You don't have to explain anything to me.  I'm not deserving of that, Todd.."


Todd winced, looking down.  Then putting his face back up, he said, "I came here because I wanted to . . . tell you that I forgive you for lying to me.  I know why you did it.  I wasn't happy about it, but I understand.  I've done things like that before.  I've told my share of lies.  I should have been more tolerant."


"But where that Lass is concerned, your gander gets up, easily, eh?  Ya can't stand for anyone to hurt her, can ya?"


"No, I guess I can't  I'm sorry."


"You mustn't ask for any forgiveness from me.  You've done nothing wrong but fight for and defend your family.  That is what a father should always do.  Remember that."


Todd said, "You talk like this is it.  What, did you give up already?"


"No need in fighting.  Nothing really left to fight for.  As long as ya came here, and forgave me, I feel relieved.  I can't tell ya what it means to me.  Ya . . . you're like a son to me, ya must know that, even though we have not known each other long."


"I do.  Which is why I am asking myself how you can let go.  You have me, and Blair, and our kids.  A whole life ahead.  You said a father always should fight for and defend his family.  Why don't you fight for us then?"


"I'm done for, Lad.  Nothing left," he turned away and coughed.  "I don't have the time, or the strength."


"You accept that?  You don't know what my life has really been like.  For every day of it, I was like a little dog, begging for my father's acceptance.  He died without giving anything real to me, or telling me my truths.  Then I found out that he wasn't even my father.  And still later, I discovered that he brutalized my mother, and did things to me that made me so angry inside that I hurt other people like I'd been hurt.  Since then, I've searched high and low for answers, and I never got them.  And you, old man, you are my last chance."  The older man's eyes were full of tears, listening, and Todd's were as well,  "You're not going to take another father from me."  Choking up, he said, "So if you really love me, like you say you do, and if you really consider me your son, you'll fight like hell for me, now, because. . ." unwillingly, he collapsed his head onto the mattress where Timothy's hand was resting.


Timothy moved his hand to rest on Todd's head.  "Finish, boy.  Say what ya want to say to me."


"Because. . . I need . . ." his voice broke again.


"Ya need a father.  It's all right, Lad.  Tell me what's happened to ya.  Tell me."  Timothy stroked the back of Todd's head.


Todd put his hand on top of Timothy's, and without looking up, he said, "I can't.  You're sick, and here I am, asking this."


"You are right to ask me.  Could be something to battle for, reason to fight it.  Because I do love ya, and I want to help.  Now, tell me, Son.  What is it?"


"I saw into myself.  I remembered, something.  I remembered watching it, when I was a little boy.  And then, I realized, it was really me.  I'd done it to someone."


"It's all right, go on, tell me."


"I saw my father rape my mother.  And I thought, as much as it made me sick and want to die, I did the same thing."


"To Marty Saybrooke, eh?"


"No.  It's not just Marty Saybrooke.  I did it before. . ."


Timothy was silent for a moment.  Then he spoke quietly, "Does anyone else know about that, Lad?  Does Blair know?"


"I never told her," he wept.


"You can tell me.  Go ahead.  There's no turning back, now.  It will help free you, Son.  And look at me, Todd."  He lifted his head from the blanket, "I'm not going to hate ya, or blame ya.  It's time for the blaming to end.  Now, go ahead, and say what you want to say."


"I raped another woman.  At least one, and if there were more, I don't remember.  She was before Marty.  She hurt me, humiliated me, and I raped her.  To pay her back."  He broke down onto the blanket.


Timothy moved his hand from Todd's head to his shoulder, and squeezed it as strongly as he could.  He said, "Now, you've gotten this out of your system.  Yes?"


Todd was having difficulty breathing.  Even so, he lifted his head and nodded.  


"And you're sorry, are ya?  You're so sorry that you can't think straight.  You've done things to punish yourself, to ruin your own happiness.  But, you're sorry."


"Does that matter?"


"Yes, Son.  It matters more than anything.  It matters more than life itself.  You're not the same boy who did those things.  You're a man, a father, a husband, who has tried with all his might to overcome it.  And you've been successful.  Think of all the men who never got that far.  Ya have a chance to have a second life and make it the best one ya can.  Ya can't go back and undo it.  What's done is done.  But ya can keep going and be the best man that ya can be."


Todd listened, and despairing, he said, "Help me."


"Yes.  Yes I will, as long as I'm able.  And you'll help yourself.  You'll tell your therapist what ya need to do, and that is forgive yourself.  You've done terrible things, but you've overcome these demons and that is healing.  My Son, you're on your way.  Is there more ya want to tell me?"


Todd nodded.  "But first, you have to promise me, you're going to fight.  You need a new liver, we'll find a new liver.  You'll get help, too, for your drinking.  Promise me."


"Yes, Lad, I promise you.  I promise, if I live, I will get help for my drinking.  It's been a problem for years.  No sense hiding it now.  You're opening up your very soul to me, then I will as well.  Now, go on."


"I've been afraid to tell Blair, or anyone, but I remembered more about my childhood.  I didn't want her to be hurt, or cry more than I already made her.  I didn't tell her everything."


"I understand.  You will, when you are ready."


Timothy promised himself to be patient, though he already knew what Todd was trying to tell him.  He also knew that once he was able to say it, to someone, he could begin to heal and move on.  He moved his hand back to Todd's shoulder, and waited.  "Take all the time ya want, boy.  I'm here."


"I know.  I remembered . . .  I hurt people.  it's just, messing me up.  I don't want to be like Peter.  My father . . . he never loved me.  I could always tell.   That is what I was dreaming when I vomited in the middle of the night.  It was a memory, not a dream.  I'm a rapist, like him.  I'm a killer, like Carlo.  In my dreams, I see myself as them."


Timothy wanted to vomit himself, but he remained steadfast for Todd's sake.  "But, Lad, ya know you're not.  Look at your children, how they flourish.  It's not your fault, Todd, that Peter Manning did these terrible things to ya.  I am sorry these things happened to ya.  But you've taught me something else.  You've overcome what that man taught you it meant to be a father, and became a wonderful parent.  You're a gift to those children.  Ya love them indescribably, and everyone knows it.."


Todd rested his head on the bed again, and sighed.  Timothy went to take his hand, and he winced.  "And what is that about?"


"Oh that's nothing, just In a nightmare the other night, I was sleep walking and burned myself with a candle."


"Now, that all has to stop.  This blaming yourself for every ailing thing in the world.  Forgiveness starts today.  You came to forgive me, but you really must forgive yourself, and work, with help, to overcome this.  You can do that, can't ya?"


"I can try.  Can you?"


"Yes, I will try.  Now, you'd best be getting home.  Your first stop is to tell Blair everything ya told me.  you'll prove to yourself that she will still love ya, and I know she will.  And then, you'll sleep and rest up to find me a donor in the morning.  And while you're at it, call your 'Mum,' my sister, and tell her to get her Irish Catholic little tail to my ailing bedside."


Todd stood, looking down at his hands, "Thank you, Timothy."


"You're welcome.  When you're ready, ya call me Dad, or Father or Pops.  However long we've got, we'd best make the best of it, Son."


Todd bent over, then stopped himself, and touched the man's forehead, and walked out.  The old man watched him go.  Turning his eyes to the ceiling, he said, "Mary, Mother of God, please bring my boy some peace."


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