Writing Fiction From Fact

I have this story that I've been wanting to write. It's the story of my cousin's last moments. Just before her truck swerves, she and her passenger are pulled out of the truck and taken to a myriad of places, talking with two angels about their future plans, their families, their relationship with each other before it's revealed to them that one of them will die. As the driver, it is up to my cousin to take the knowledge that she has just gleaned and make the decision. Turning the wheel an inch or two one way or the other determines where the truck will hit the tree. It determines who takes the most impact. It determines who gets to survive the coming accident. When they're back in the car, without knowing why, she turns the wheel the tiniest bit to the right, sparing her friend and sacrificing herself. And there's a moment, before the collision, when she remembers the time with the angels, remembers her decision, and smiles just a little.

I don't know how many times I've opened the document to try and write this story. I must have started it twenty times. I can't seem to get it quite right, and I can't seem to move forward with it until I do. I'm stuck somewhere at the beginning without being able to move on. Is there a metaphor in that somewhere?

I don't know why I feel the urge to write this story. I don't know why I feel like I need it so badly. And maybe I'm still too close to it, too close to the tragedy and the pain to be able to voice the peace that this story contains. I don't know. But it's the most frustrating case of writer's block I've ever had.