Brian died on a Sunday, exactly two years, four months, and six days after I arrived in Pittsburgh. The doctors would say it was expected, but I don’t agree. I mean, how can you ever really expect something like that? He’d been in the hospital for a week with some sort of infection before it happened. He was hooked up to an IV and had to be given continuous oxygen. I remembered that that’s exactly how he said he never wanted me to see him. The irony didn’t escape me.

The night before it happened, I watched him cry – really cry – for the first time ever. He kept himself together pretty well until Gus left the room, but once we were alone, the quiet tears didn’t stop for nearly an hour. I think maybe he knew it was over even before we did. I climbed into the cramped hospital bed with him that night and held his body to mine until he started to speak. He asked me to watch after Gus for him. He told me that his son may be all grown up and engaged to the love of his life, but no eighteen-year-old boy should go through losing a father. When he told me to tell Gus he was sorry that he wouldn’t be at the wedding, I stopped him. I insisted he quit assuming he was going to die – I told him he was going to be okay. Looking back on it now, I wish I would’ve let him finish.

When the incessant beeping of one of the machines started to sound, indicating he was gone, I clung to his chest and sobbed, hanging on for dear life. The nurses had to physically pry me off of his body before I’d leave the room. I walked into the small waiting room just down the hall to tell Gus. I didn’t have to, though, because he knew as soon as he saw me. He first shook his head in shock and sheer denial. When I only nodded in response, his body wracked with sobs and he fell to the floor, covered his face with his hands, and cried violently. I lowered myself to the floor to take him in my arms. I held him while he cried for a good hour before we called and told anybody what had happened.

We buried him on a Tuesday at an outdoor ceremony – because Brian would’ve hated for it to be in a church. The casket was closed and, for that, I was grateful. Brian didn’t want to be remembered as a cold, pale corpse lying in a casket with everyone crying over him. In fact, he would’ve hated it either way.

I stood near the head of the casket and looked around at the people attending Brian’s funeral. Gus sat with his head on Ashley’s shoulder, tears streaking his face. Lindsay fought to keep herself together as a teary eyed Mel stood behind her, lovingly rubbing her shoulders. Ben held Michael while he sobbed quietly. Ted and Emmett stood by looking shocked, as if they didn’t quite believe this was actually happening. Kevin sat near the back, his head in his hands, shoulders shaking. My mom and sister sat next to me; Molly held Mom’s hand as silent tears fell down my mother’s face. Even Joan and Claire came. His sister cried way too loudly while his mother stood like a statue, cold and unresponsive. Michael called her with the news; he said she deserved to know that he was gone, considering she was his mother. I say she didn’t deserve a damn thing, but I didn’t tell Michael that.

Behind Brian’s family and friends stood a large crowd; there had to be at least fifty of them. I still don’t know how the word got out, especially considering it obviously wasn’t Deb who told them. I recognized a few people – Todd, Mysterious Marilyn, two bartenders from Woody’s, and a few guys I even recalled Brian and me fucking years ago. The other faces were unfamiliar, but they all stood, heads slightly bowed, through the entire service. Some of them even cried when the casket was lowered into the ground. They left an endless plethora of flowers at the site and a few stopped to tell me how sorry they were for my loss.

Michael said a few words before the ceremony was over. He told everyone how Brian used to tell him that he never would’ve have made it as far as he did without him and Debbie. He told us that, while that may or may not be true, Brian saved him as well. He told us how much the family was going to miss him and assured us that his mother and uncle were waiting for Brian long before he got there.

Lindsay spoke next. She told us how Brian was a major part of her life not only because he was the father of her son, but because he was the one that helped her accept herself for who she was and to come out to those close to her. Brian’s mother’s mouth became a thin, strained line when Lindsay said that, and I almost smiled in satisfaction that she was uncomfortable.

Gus also stood up to tell everyone how amazing his dad was and how much he’d miss him. He told us that Brian’s biggest fear was turning into his own father, but that he definitely was the furthest thing from the piece of shit (his words, not mine) that raised him. I wondered who told Gus about Joan and Jack, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that, at that point, Brian’s mother and sister stood and left without another word. My eyes met Michael’s and he gave me a small smile and nodded once. I guess he, too, knew she didn’t deserve to be there. Near the end of his speech, Gus became more choked up and couldn’t finish. Ashley wrapped her arm around him and led him away from the group for a few minutes so he could calm down.

They asked if I wanted to say anything, but I told them no. I’d already told Brian everything I wanted to say, and that’s what was important. That night, I lay in the middle of the bed running my fingers over the smooth band donning my finger. The pain I was feeling was intense – my throat burning, my chest aching, my stomach in knots – and all I could do was lie there and let the tears fall freely from my eyes, hoping against hope that I’d wake up from this nightmare and he’d be beside me the next morning.

Exactly one year after his death, I still wear that ring on my finger. I figure that if Brian is still wearing his, I can too. I know one day it’ll have to come off. Brian would kick my ass if he knew I hadn’t moved on and found some twinkie to love me – but he can just deal with it. I’m not ready yet. I will be one day – but not right now. Right now I’m kneeling in front of his headstone, running my fingers over the letters forming his name. I blink back the tears and smile as I tell him about Gus’ wedding, Emmett’s new boyfriend, and the fact that his name still floats around Liberty Avenue from time to time, even now.

When I’m done catching him up on recent events, I lie down in the grass beside his gravesite and take a deep breath. Sometimes, in moments like this, I can almost feel him with me. I’d give anything to hear his voice or to touch him one more time, but I still find comfort in these little moments with him. Several minutes later, I finally stand up, promising him I’ll be back soon, and make my way to my car. And tonight, as I lie in our bed in this big empty house, just before I fall asleep, I swear I can almost hear his heartbeat against my ear. I drift off then, and sleep better than I have in a year.