— changes ; a self-para.
trigger warnings: accident, death, grief, loss.
Vermont was a long way from Washington State, but despite the distance, he did everything he could to stay in touch with his family. His older sister, Sarah, had opted to stay behind in their home state after finding the love of her life in the middle of establishing her career as a pediatric surgeon. His parents, as much as they'd joked about following his career, had decided to stay too. He couldn't blame them for not wanting to uproot their lives, but at the end of his career, he couldn't find it within him to go back.
The early morning drive was exactly what he'd needed to clear his head. It was barely five in the morning, but the sun dared to peek over the mountains as he passed the city limits sign.
The time difference was the only reason he hadn't thought twice about answering the call from his mother. Surely she knew how early it was, but what was that about a mother's instinct and knowing when something was off? "Good morning, mom. Look, I might lose you because I'm driving out to these hiking trails outside of the city, but I can call you back later if that's okay?"
Silence. "Mom?" He heard shuffling around, maybe even a sniffle before his father's voice rang through clearly.
"She's gone, Henry. Your sister is gone. Matthew too."
A lump formed in his throat and his grip tightened on the phone. Surely he'd missed words in between. "She's gone where? Are they coming to Seattle? I'm sure wherever she went, she just forgot to tell you. You know how she is." His tone was weak, a sense of doubt washing over him.
"Son. There was an accident this morning. We waited to call until we knew for certain. She didn't make it. Matthew didn't either."
Rowan. Baby Row.
"What about Rowan? Where is Rowan?" He hadn't mentioned the three month old child. Why hadn't he mentioned Rowan? "No. There's been a mistake. They're wrong, okay? It's not her. It's not. She's," he countered, though his father's stern voice was quick to cut him off.
"Henry, son, you should come home. Rowan is with us. Your mother isn't well. She wants you home. Can you come home? Son, please?"
"I'm losing you," he lied, hazel hues burning as he dropped the phone from his ear and ended the call. This wasn't true. It couldn't be true. Sarah was a mother; Rowan needed her mother. Three months old was too young to lose not one important piece of her life, but two.
Carefully, the male navigated through his contacts, gaze misty as he landed on his sister's name. One tap later and he was met with a persistent ring and then the sound of her voicemail blasted through his head. You've reached Sarah O'Connell. I'm sorry I couldn't get to the phone, but if you leave your name and number, I'll call you back at my earliest convenience. Thanks!
He tried again. And then again. By the fifth time, he tossed his phone into the passenger side floorboard and veered off the edge of the road, the warning of the rumble strips doing little to phase him as he rolled to a stop.
She was gone. The sister he'd known for nearly thirty-seven years was gone. They'd waited to call him? For how long, he wondered? Had it been hours? Mere minutes? When had the world changed without him knowing it? Or perhaps he had. The lingering feeling deep his chest had rattled him to the core; had pushed him out his front door and into the car at such an early hour. Maybe he'd known all along, but nothing compared to the harsh truth falling from his father's mouth while his mother weeped out of earshot.
Fist clenched tight, but rather than drop it against the steering wheel in a fit of rage, he pulled back, a hand falling against the side of his head. She was gone. Matthew was gone. Rowan? Rowan wasn't and neither were his pleading parents. They wanted him home? He'd come home. He needed that.
— the aftermath ; a continuation.
Everything between the phone call and his flight landing in Vermont had been a blur. He'd walked through the airport with his head hung low, thankful that no one had asked for a photo or an autograph that he didn't feel like giving. What should have been his sister greeting him at the end of the escalators was his father, a stern-looking man made of emotional steel.
"Your mother is at home with Rowan. We've already made arrangements for her service, but son," the older man paused, a certain look in glassy eyes giving away the pain he hid away so well, "there's something that your mother is going to ask and I need you to be prepared."
Whatever he'd expected to fall from his father's mouth next, it wasn't even close to what he said. "Someone needs to care for Rowan. We've already spoken to Matthew's parents. They don't think they're capable of caring for a three month old baby and quite frankly, Henry, we aren't either. This is what Sarah would have wanted for her. She trusted you, son."
Not even a day ago, he'd been living the bachelor life. Retired hockey player, bar owner, single man with no outright responsibility weighing him down? He'd dealt with the guilt of his divorce all over again, but this? It was the greatest challenge of all.
This is what Sarah would have wanted for her. She trusted you, Son.
There was no answer that signified how he felt. No response that could have accurately summed up the war of thoughts raging within his mind. Of course he wanted to say yes. He wanted to blindly jump into being the man his niece needed, but how? Where did he even start?
Days passed in an instant. There were so many apologies given to him and his parents that he could't keep up. The service had been as beautiful as it could be, but it was difficult rejoicing a life that was taken far too soon.
Before he knew it, it was time to return home, but without baby Row at his side. According to his parents, Matthew's folks needed an extra week to say their goodbyes and after that, they'd fly out to Seattle while legal guardianship was transferred to him. After that, he'd never know a day of loneliness again and only time would tell if he were fit for the role he'd once wanted to play.
