“It's not,” William said, not looking up. “With grandma, I tried getting there but
I was late.”
Willow put her arm on his shoulder.
“I always wished I could have been there,” William confessed. He watched his tear
hit the carpet. “But I was with Dad. I saw the last breath he took.”
William straightened up and glanced at his sister.
“Seeing his eyes,” he started. “Seeing them after he died.”
Willow hugged him.
“I can't get it out of my head,” he confessed. “I think living here would make it
worse.”
“William, it will get better,” Willow told him.
“I don't know,” William responded. “Every time I would go into the garage, I'd
picture the same thing. Me doing CPR with the 911 operator giving instructions.
It's too much.”
“It is,” Willow said. “But you need to remember that there were forty years you had
with him that weren't like that. You have so many good memories with him that those
outweigh his final moments.”
“I know,” William muttered.
“And if Dad was here now.” Willow stood up. “Do you know what he would say?”
William thought for a moment.
“It's time to wake up. You're late for school,” William responded.
“Ha!” Willow laughed. “Well, for a while that was his catchphrase for you.”
She grabbed his hand and lifted him off the couch.
“If Dad was here right now, he would tell you to get up and keep moving,” she told
him. “You did everything you could do to save him. You did, William.”