We were due back at the funeral home the following morning, after far too late of a night spent together as a family, saying goodbye to the house that had represented so much love and acceptance and pride, where all were welcome and everyone felt safe. Although Brian still looked tired when the alarm went off and I could tell he was dreading the rest of the day, I no longer felt that odd sense of distance between us. I could tell he felt a little lighter, too -- like a burden had been lifted.

His pain, however, hadn’t gone away. Not that I was surprised, because I knew from past experience that when he stressed himself out to this point, it took a few days -- sometimes longer -- for everything to return to normal. What did surprise me, though, was when I came out of the bedroom after my shower and found him sitting on the living room floor with Rob, in that wide-legged forward fold that I’d always thought would probably help his back because it gave me such a good stretch in my own, breathing in the way Rob had taught me that day over a year before when I’d so desperately needed it.

As soon as he saw me, Brian was quick to say, “I’ll leave the mindfulness shit to you two. I’m just tired of this fucking pain. And I can’t be drugged up today. I need to be able to fucking function.”

Rob grinned at me from behind Brian and shook his head a little, and I smiled to myself as I poured another cup of coffee. I was glad Brian was at least trying it -- even if it was only because he was looking for an alternative to his current choices between being loopy and sleepy from medication or being in pain.

I looked out the kitchen window as I sat down at the table, watching the raindrops bounce off the windowsill. Dark clouds hung overhead, and it looked like the rain had settled in for the day. But for some reason, it felt appropriate -- almost like the sky was mourning along with us.

For the rest of the morning, no one talked about where we were about to go or what we were about to do. I don’t think any of us wanted to, least of all Brian and I. Even Sophia was a slightly more subdued version of herself, perhaps picking up on the overall mood of everyone else in the house. We drove to the funeral home in our separate rental cars, and I found myself overwhelmed by a sense of deja vu. Just like the day before, I didn’t know how Brian was going to react, but I hoped that he was feeling at least a little more at peace with the process after our conversation the previous night.

The attendees of Debbie’s funeral represented the diverse mix of people she’d always associated with -- the people who might have had trouble finding acceptance elsewhere, who were always welcome as far as Debbie was concerned. Father Tom -- who was still a priest, although he’d come to accept his own orientation and taken to sharing a truly Christian message of love and acceptance from his pulpit -- led the service and read several prayers, although not nearly the amount Brian informed me were typically part of a traditional Catholic funeral.

“Trust me,” he’d whispered, while Shanda Leer was singing her beautiful rendition of “What I Did for Love,” which I hadn’t heard since the fundraiser we’d held for Brian (a.k.a. the Concerned Citizens for the Truth) fifteen years before. “This is nothing. Wait until Joan kicks the bucket. She’ll have him reading every goddamned prayer in the book. That is, if we’re even invited to the service.”

After what Brian had told me the night before, a significant part of me hoped we wouldn’t be, because Joan didn’t deserve to call herself Brian’s mother. Debbie was the one who had shown him what a mother was supposed to be.

All in all, it was a beautiful service, and a fitting tribute to the woman who was a loving mother figure to so many lost souls. And, although I could still see the deep sadness in my husband’s eyes, he seemed to be doing a little better than he had been, and that was a good thing. I held his hand, and took pleasure in the feeling of his fingers, laced with mine, as we leaned on each other.

There were a few emotional moments for all of us -- especially Michael -- but for the most part, it seemed like we were all beginning to come to grips with the loss.

It wasn’t until the service was over and we all stood and started mingling with one another, that I realized just how many people had come to pay their respects to Debbie. When we’d taken our seats, the chapel had been fairly full, but when I stood back up and turned around, I saw that people were lining the side aisles and the back wall, and it was standing room only. If anyone ever had any doubt how much Debbie Novotny meant to Liberty Avenue and Pittsburgh’s LGBTQ community, they needed only to look around at the crowd that had come together to say goodbye to her.

All around the room, people of all stripes were shaking hands and hugging and sharing their condolences with one another. I stood behind Brian and took in the scene around us as the rest of our little family filed out of the aisle one by one, making their way over to the side door. We would all be heading to the private graveside service shortly, together as a family, to say our final farewell.

Gus and Brian were talking in hushed voices, while several of the others shared hugs and had quiet conversations of their own, commenting on the service and the flowers and how amazing it was to see so many people there. I was just about to say something to my mom, who was talking to Michael and Ben, when I looked across the chapel and my gaze fell on Joan Kinney standing on the other side, her own eyes trained in our direction, looking as uncomfortable as I would have expected her to be in this crowd. I patted Brian on the shoulder, told him I’d be right back, and hoped that the conversation he was having with Gus and the sheer volume of the crowd would be enough distraction for him to not see that his pitiful excuse for a mother had the gall to show her face at Debbie’s funeral.

“Hello,” she said primly as I approached her. “Justin, wasn’t it?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I said, keeping my voice low. Fuck pleasantries. This woman didn’t deserve them.

“Paying my respects to Debbie, of course.”

“And you actually expect me to believe you care? Last I heard you referred to Debbie as ‘that Novotny woman.’”

“Of course I care.” Joan straightened her shoulders and stuck her nose up in the air. “I’m Brian’s mother, and Michael is his best friend.”

“No, Brian’s getting ready to bury his mother,” I growled, trying to stay quiet so we wouldn’t attract too much attention, but at the same time trying to speak firmly so she’d know I wasn’t fucking around. Joan looked taken aback by my words, but I kept right on talking, not giving her a chance to respond. “You need to get the fuck out. You’re not welcome here.”

“This is a church service. Everyone is welcome.”

“Sure,” I scoffed, “everyone except us, unless we deny ourselves, like you were always trying to get Brian to do, every time you came to try to save his soul. In fact, this room is full of people that you would condemn to hell just as easily as you did your own son. I’m surprised you’re not afraid you’ll catch something. You need to leave.”

She ignored me, instead turning her attention back over my shoulder in Brian’s direction.

“Is that boy his son?” she asked coolly, as if she was merely mildly curious. As if we weren’t talking about her fucking grandson.

I glanced back to be sure Gus was still with Brian, and he was. Thankfully, Brian had his back turned to us now. I made eye contact with Michael, and watched as his gaze shifted from me to Joan. I tried to wordlessly send him a message to keep Brian busy -- and over there -- until I could get rid of Joan.

The last thing Brian needed today was to have to deal with his pitiful excuse for a mother, so I was willing to do everything in my power to keep that from happening.

By the time I turned back to face her, she was staring at my left hand -- presumably at my wedding ring.

“So he did marry you, I take it?”

“Yes,” I said, trying to keep my tone just as cool, just as proper and polite, as hers. “We’ve been married almost eleven years.”

“Nice of him to invite his mother to his wedding.”

Before I could fire back the string of curse words I wanted to, to show Joan Kinney exactly what I thought of her, I felt a hand on the small of my back that I prayed didn’t belong to Brian.

“Hello, Mrs. Kinney,” came Michael’s voice from alongside me. Thank god.

“Hello, Michael,” Joan said. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

The bitch was looking down her nose at Michael and making me want to smack that haughty, self-righteous look right off her face. I absolutely would have, if it wouldn’t have caused a scene, but it still wouldn’t have been enough to repay her for all the damage she’d done to Brian -- and all of the abuse she’d stood by and allowed to happen -- during his formative years. And after everything Brian had shared with me the previous night, Joan was lucky we were in public, otherwise she would have been the one wishing she’d never been born.

“Thank you, Mrs. Kinney,” Michael said politely. He was clearly a better man than I, because I was seething inside. “But I think you should go now. Thank you for coming.”

“I’d like to speak to my--”

“You need to leave,” I said, more insistently this time. “Brian doesn’t want to see you or speak with you. As far as he’s concerned, you’re out of his life for good, and you’d do well to stop trying to insert yourself into it. You didn’t give a shit about him back then, and I’m not sure why you’re pretending to give a shit now. We’re doing fine. He’s doing fine. Great, in fact. No thanks to you. Now, you can either leave on your own or I can have someone escort you out, but either way, you’re leaving, and you’re not speaking to Brian. If I have anything to do with it, he won’t even know you were here.”

Joan pursed her lips and looked at Michael.

“Again, my condolences,” she said. Her eyes were cold and calculating, and nearly made a shiver run down my spine. I wondered how in the hell Brian made it out of that house still able to feel any emotion at all. And, after that encounter, I certainly had a new understanding of why he had been the way he was when we first met.

Joan stared me down one more time, then turned on her heel and stalked out of the chapel.

Michael gave me a sad smile. “She never changes,” he said, shrugging. “I’m just glad Brian didn’t see her. I don’t want to know what would have happened if he had.”

“I know,” I sighed. I really didn’t want to think about it. Brian either would have killed her with his bare hands, or he would have lost it completely. Maybe both.

“J.T. and Zephyr save the day, huh?”

“Yeah.” I smiled. “Something like that.”

Michael put his arm around my shoulders, and we walked together back to where Brian and Gus were, joining the rest of our family.

“Everything okay?” Brian said, looking between Michael and I as we approached the group, confusion clear on his face.

“All good,” I said, giving him a small smile.

Brian reached up and looped his fingers through mine. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” he said, biting the inside of his cheek nervously. He and Michael were looking at each other, having a wordless conversation that said so much more than what Brian had spoken. In that look, it was easy to see the bond that they had with each other -- all of the history, shared pain, and shared joy of their teenage years and their lives as young gay men. They were still important to one another, and they always would be.

“Me either,” Michael said. “But I think we can do it together.”