His name was Trevor.
He had two sisters and one brother.
His mother died first. Cancer.
His father drank to numb the pain.
Things got worse and his father eventually killed himself.
His brother couldn’t handle things and followed in his father’s footsteps. He drank.
He crashed his car one night and was killed.
Both parents gone and his only brother.
His oldest sister felt it was her responsibility to keep the family together
but she had a family of her own.
So did the other sister.
Trevor didn’t. He felt left out.
His sister’s lives naturally revolved around their own families.
He took the same path as his father and brother. He drank.
The cache of liquor seemed to be his family.
The sisters decided to confront him. Possibly an intervention.
They invited him over under the guise of a child’s birthday visit.
Trevor was already inebriated prior to the visit. The sisters knew as soon as he arrived.
And they could tell it wasn’t from alcohol.
His ramblings were incoherent as he lamented about the family that was gone.
But he managed to clearly say, “You don’t think of me!”
His younger sister exclaimed in defense, “I sent you a text on your birthday!”
Trevor shouted back, “I don’t want a text on my birthday, I want to be part of your life!”
The words struck hard. Like the force of a guillotine. Except he was already severed.
What exactly did “I want to be part of your life” mean?
Life is largely made up of the mundane. The ordinary day-to-day routines.
Going out to run errands but the car breaks down.
Will the tow-truck driver be the last one to see Trevor?
Will anyone know he might be missing?
Is that what it meant?
What about the severe weather warnings that come their way?
Pending storms. Severe heat. Severe cold. Blizzards. Flooding.
News reports warn to check on neighbors.
Check on the elderly. Those who live alone. Loved ones.
Perhaps that was it. He must not be loved. The calls never came.
Trevor walked out. There would be no intervention. At least not this time.
Memories of childhood, teenage years, young adulthood, how things changed.
He continued down the sidewalk and that’s all he remembered.
The sisters were left by themselves to lament.
What went wrong? What was Trevor on if it wasn’t alcohol? What should they do?
They did what they always did. They went back to their families. Life went on.
A couple messages were left but no word from Trevor. They figured they’d hear from him again at some point, just like before.
A young man on his way to church one evening found Trevor laying on a sidewalk.
He called 911. An ambulance arrived and police questioned the young man.
He answered “I’m Randall. Bryan Randall. I was on my way to church. I host a substance abuse program on Friday nights. And I just saw him laying here.”
There was no ID on Trevor. He was taken to the hospital, unconscious for a couple days.
The police checked recent Missing Persons reports for a male with short dark hair, about 30 – 35 years old, 5’ 8” tall, 140 lbs. No one matched Trevor’s description.
Randall called the hospital to check on Trevor but he wasn’t family, so he learned nothing.
He called the police. They said the guy was pretty messed up and they found various drugs in his pocket. They wouldn’t tell him what kind but Trevor would be charged with possession.
He had no idea of the journey he would face once he woke up.
