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Matthew Murdock has many ghosts. More ghosts than he can count. There’s the obvious ones, the huge ones. Like his father, shot down in an alley because he was determined to prove himself to his blind son. That one never stops hurting, a constant pain in his chest, a constant grip around his throat. And there’s Karen Page, killed in front of him. Once again his fault. This pain is more sharp, but it comes and goes, appearing whenever Matt thinks about the possibility of someday having a family. These are the ghosts that he will vividly remember forever. They will forever plague his nightmares, and even chase him during the day. They never get tired of taking what little happiness Matt has ever tried to cultivate for himself. He can never forget these. He will never forget these. These are the ghosts, the daily reminders, that push him to do better - to be better.
But these aren’t his only ghosts. Not even close. There are others. So many others. The ghosts whose names have been forgotten, or never even known. They forever make up a heavy blanket of guilt and weight hanging from his shoulders. These people who he couldn’t save. He should have. He should have been able to do something. But he couldn’t. More failures. More proof that he isn’t good enough. Never has been. Never will be. These are the people who died caught in his messes; the people who he didn’t get to fast enough; worst of all, the people who he saved, only to have them slip away minutes or even seconds later. And Matt can’t even do these people the courtesy of remembering all their names. He tried once -- tried to remember and write down the names of all the people whose death and suffering were his fault. But Foggy found his list written in Matt’s shaky handwriting. Found the list and made Matt destroy it. Made him burn it. He thought that that would help, if Matt couldn’t remember the names, he couldn’t bear the guilt.
But he was wrong. The thing about these kinds of ghosts is that you can carry them all around at once. You can carry them around forever. They never leave. And Matt knows for a fact that eventually they catch up with you. One hard night, one bad fall, one tragic death, one time too late, and it all comes crashing down. Most ridiculous is when it comes on all at once for no reason at all. This kind is unanticipatable. It sneaks up behind you and bowls you over before you can even see it coming. And once it starts, there are very few ways to stop it. Stick always said that these kinds of feelings are obstacles in the mind. But what happens when there is no way to avoid the obstacles? When the walls grow so tall and thick that there is no way to break out? Stick would say that you can always push them aside. And maybe Stick can, but Matt’s not Stick. (Or maybe Stick doesn’t have these kinds of feelings at all?) But when Matt pushes at the walls, they don’t move to the side, they come crashing down on top of him. So maybe Stick thinks that this is just an obstacle to be overcome, but Foggy says that it’s what makes Matt human. It’s what separates Matt from the people he fights. And Matt will always put Foggy and Foggy’s word before Stick. Always.
Foggy is Matt’s rock. He’s the solid presence, the real, in the midst of so many ghosts. And Matt prays to God that Foggy never becomes one of his ghosts. He doesn’t think he could survive having that ghost on his conscience. But Foggy has always been Matt’s rock. Since the day Matt met Foggy so many years ago, on a college campus (both of them so ridiculously optimistic and stupidly hopeful ), since day one, Foggy has been a steadfast and real friend to Matt. His only friend. He has accepted all of Matt’s imperfection all of his brokenness (and God, there’s so many). He’s tolerated it like a saint. Matt could never ask for more from his friend.
And yet… here they are again. On the floor of Matt’s office. A too familiar scene. One that has occurred before, as much as Matt wishes he could deny it. Foggy next to him, warm and so real. Foggy sent their secretary home early, even before this all started. He could tell that it was coming. And, bless him, he had saved Matt the humility of doing this in front of an audience. So Foggy sits next to him, whispering over and over again that it’s not Matt’s fault. That he did the best he could. (Foggy’s heart beats truth, but Matt knows that he’ll never be able to believe it himself.) That Matt can’t save everyone.
In an hour or two Matt might be able to pick himself up off the floor (God, he’s so pathetic), and maybe even get some work done before he heads home. Foggy will probably follow Matt home because they’ve been here before. Foggy knows what Matt needs, Foggy understands, and best of all, Foggy accepts. And Matt has never deserved that, least of all from someone like Foggy. But he’ll take whatever Foggy is willing to give.
Foggy, Matt’s guardian angel. The man who has always been able to push away the ghosts. It always takes time, too much time. But eventually, he pushes them away. At least for a little while.