Willow Augustin breathed in the cold air and felt her cheeks flush against the wind. The snowflakes fell like glitter, and were bright against the green pine trees.
A peak of sunlight graced her face and warmed it. This was peace. This was perfection.
But then, a certain person is a certain town decided to drink and then drive. And they happened to be on a certain road at a certain time, and hit Willow’s dad.
“Willow. Come home now,” were the words that were forever entrenched in Willow’s hearing. And her heart. She could feel them being painfully etched with each growing minute.
But Joseph Augustin did not die that Wednesday. It was only his mind that did.
“He’s asleep,” her mom would say, pain shooting from her eyes.
“Yeah, just taking a nap,” her little sister would say with a hopeful look in her eye. But the faith of her sister did not encourage her. It dug two more shovel- fulls down into her pit of sorrow and stabbed her heart with another needle. She had heard the doctors and she wasn’t going to play the naïve “we’ll get through this together” card. She knew her dad’s odds of waking up. One in twenty three, to be exact.
She could not believe that this could happen. Her father was… life. That was a good word for him. Full of life. Loving, never failing to listen to Willow and put his best foot forward. He was Willow’s life. Most memories that she had included Joseph Augustin. Whether he was upset or glowing, he was just there. He had his sorrows, and despite trying to hide them, they would seep through the cracks of his heart during vulnerable moments and Willow could see them plainly in front of her, like she could read the sadness of her dad’s heart like a book. Sometimes it shocked her when she was reminded that her parents were human too, with wants and needs and desires and heartbreak. Experiences.
And with that, she was reminded every day as she watched her father’s slow pulse on the monitor that humans can break, and sometimes they cannot be fixed. Like humpty dumpty, but not an egg.
She would try and try to use her mind to push aside the array of emotions that encased her, like a bubble. If only she could break it.
Willow Augustin was not the type of person to cry in front of others. She cried often alone, if she was mad or grieving, or just didn’t know what to feel. Crying was her default mechanism. So, she resolved not to shed a single tear while with her father. The doctors said that he wasn’t present in mind, but she refused to think of him like that. She refused to cry when she was with him.
Once in a while, maybe a few times a week, memories would come fleeting into her mind, and play out like a movie. A movie she could not stop. The most frequent one was when she was around eleven or so. She was crying in her room after she had gotten in trouble at school that day.
Willow’s father knocked on her door and said, “Can I come in?”
Willow nodded, and then remembered that a person can’t hear a nod. “Yeah,” she said quietly, scooting back on her bed and resting up against the wall.
“Do you want to talk about it, buddy?” her dad asked, looking her in the eyes with such care and concern. She could never turn down her dad’s sea- blue eyes.
She nodded. “I know I shouldn’t have bullied him. I’m sorry dad. You know that-“ she was forced to pause as she felt a lump in her throat starting to form. Tears threatened to peak over her eyelid like a waterfall. “You know that I’m not that type of person.” She finished, burying her head in his shoulder. Even a minor think like getting in trouble for bullying made Willow feel very guilty. She was not a bully.
She sobbed (not very prettily, I might add) into her dad’s shoulder and he just moved his hand up and down on her shoulder, comforting her with his presence. After a good cry, her dad put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her soggy, red, waterlogged eyes.
“I know that you aren’t a bully. You’re my daughter. You’re the most loving person I know,” he said, pride radiating from his warm face. “But Willow, promise me something,” he said. Willow nodded.
“Promise me you will never try to be someone you aren’t ever again. That you will always do the right thing, even if it’s difficult.”
“I promise,” she said, and she felt warmth flow into her limbs and turn up the corners of her mouth into a smile. A genuine one.
She had this memory at least once a week, and she couldn’t figure out why. It just stuck there like old gum right on her brain.
Another one wouldn’t leave her alone.
“Dad, is he dead?” Willow asked, looking at the newborn puppy with disbelief. Her dad looked up at her and nodded.
“Honey, he didn’t make it,” he whispered, a stinging look of sorrow shooting from his eyes.
Willow felt the tears, but she held them back. Her, her sister, and her dad buried the small Chihuahua puppy in their back yard and said a few words. Complications during the birth of the puppy had been too much for it.
Willow held it in until she felt like a dam about to burst. She sulked into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror.
Her father walked in and looked at her with that irresistible stare.
“Talk to me Willow,” he said. Those few words of grace, of permission to spew her heart’s thoughts were enough to break the dam.
She walked to her dad so that her forehead rested on his chest, and she sobbed for a long time. A long, long time.
Eventually, she could speak. “I think we should name him Ace, because he fought really hard to live, and he’s the best for doing that,” she said, tears still flowing down her cheeks.
“I think that’s a perfect name,” her father responded, giving her a smile.
Whenever she thought of that memory, she had to hold back the tears once again. What had she done to deserve such a great dad? Absolutely nothing, she thought.
What had her dad done to deserve a coma? Absolutely nothing.