“I was scared… feared you’d despise me. That you’d depart. That Joyce would never forgive me.”
I grabbed his hand across the table. Hand of man who saw my husband’s death. Hand of man my husband sought to save.
Kevin, Danny chose that night. A choice based on love for you, Alice, and our family. He wouldn’t want you to bear this alone.”
How can you say That? Alice wept. Dad’s gone because—
“Because a drunk driver ran a bright light,” I said. “Not because Kevin needed aid. Danny would have done that for anybody he loved.”
Kevin stared at me, hopeful and skeptical. You don’t blame me?
“I miss my husband every day,” I remarked, crying. “Knowing he died as the man I loved… Being polite, helpful, and prioritizing family provides me peace, not rage.
***
The next days were hard. Alice struggled with wrath and remorse. Kevin began treatment and psychotherapy.
Kevin occasionally accompanied me on my monthly graveyard visits. Together, we watched Jake put a bouquet of red roses at the grave yesterday.
“Grandpa liked these ones best,” he said, though he was too young to remember Danny.
Kevin smiled sweetly. It’s true, buddy. How did you know?
