I woke Brian up about an hour later, as much as I hated to do it. He needed to sleep, but I also knew that he would kill me if I let him sleep all afternoon. So an hour seemed like the happiest balance I could strike at that moment -- though it came along with the hope that I might be able to get Brian to go to bed earlier tonight than he had the night before. We ate, and then we went to Michael and Ben’s, which still felt like a bit of a surreal experience, having everyone together at the same time, and not on a holiday. Now that we’d all sort of moved on and had lives of our own, family dinners where everyone was present were pretty rare, and generally only happened on Thanksgiving and Christmas.

But on that Saturday night in October, we were all there, gathered in Michael and Ben’s cozy living room, their dining room table covered in food that had been brought over by the neighbors, most of whom were gay couples who knew Debbie or at least knew of her. All afternoon, people kept stopping by to offer their condolences. And all afternoon, I watched Brian try to keep his own feelings at bay for what I assumed was Michael’s benefit, all the while knowing that I’d be the one holding him when he fell apart later.

It was nice to be with everyone, though. Enjoying each other’s company as we mourned together. Brian spent most of the afternoon on the couch with Gus and Lindsay, save for the times when he needed to use the restroom, which wasn’t the best arrangement because Michael and Ben’s house was old, but he seemed to be making it work. Every time he’d go in there and come out, though, I could tell he’d spent at least some of the time he was in there releasing some of his pent-up emotions.

I didn’t understand why he wasn’t willing to cry in front of Michael. Why it was such a big deal in his mind that he needed to be the strong one in this situation. He didn’t need to be -- we were all supporting each other, and he had as much of a right to be sad as any of the rest of us did. He didn’t need to pretend to be okay when he really wasn’t. But I also knew that Brian was stubborn enough that there would be no convincing him otherwise.

We did make it home earlier that night, which I was thankful for. I was still feeling tired and out of sorts, and I figured Brian was probably pretty close to his breaking point. Thankfully, there was enough food at Michael and Ben’s that I didn’t have to cook anything when we got home, although Brian’s appetite was still almost nonexistent.

It didn’t take any convincing to get Brian into bed early, after a slow, gentle fuck in the shower, just to be with each other, connected and intimate. Sex had always been an effective stress release for Brian, and it still was, even though things were different now. I knew there were tears mingling with the hot water as it cascaded down on both of our bodies, but that didn’t matter. It was cleansing -- physically, mentally, and emotionally. We both needed that.

We fell asleep quickly that night, holding each other in the warmth and comfort of our home.

When I awoke the next morning, Brian was already awake, lying on his side, looking at me.

“Morning,” he said, trying to smile, but I could see something else in his eyes. Something aside from the sadness and the intense sense of loss that we were both feeling. This was the look Brian got in his eyes when his nerve pain ramped up to the point of distraction. A look that was usually accompanied by a twitch in Brian’s jaw and a tightness in his voice -- both of which were also present at the moment. This was the price Brian typically paid for not getting enough sleep. It was almost always his body’s initial protest -- the proverbial canary in the coal mine that told him he was headed in the wrong direction.

Thankfully, it was a protest he no longer ignored.

He closed his eyes and held his breath through what I knew was a stronger wave of whatever he was feeling. This pain ebbed and flowed. Sometimes it was burning, sometimes it was stinging, and sometimes it felt like pins and needles, but no matter what it was, it was horribly uncomfortable for Brian and there tended to not be a whole lot he could do about it. He took medication for it daily, and he had others he could take when it got really bad, but those would knock him out, so I wasn’t sure he’d be very inclined to take them.

He surprised me, though, when he got up, went to the bathroom, stayed in there for his usual thirty minutes or so, then came out and got back in bed, burying his face in the pillow with a soft moan. I rubbed his back for him again, this time being extra careful to avoid the area near his waistline that I knew would be more sensitive today. Another half hour later, it became apparent that he had taken the medication, when I felt his muscles relax under my fingers as he fell asleep again.

I pulled the duvet over Brian’s sleeping form and carefully slid out of bed, heading into the bathroom to take care of my own morning routine. When I came back out, I grabbed Brian’s phone as well as my own, so that if someone called him, it would be me they ended up talking to. He needed rest, whether he wanted to admit that or not.

I sent a quick text to Ben to let him know that I wasn’t sure if we’d be over today, hoping to head off any potential phone calls before they happened. I got a reply from him fairly quickly, telling me to take care of Brian, but also reminding me not to forget about myself and telling me to let him know if we needed anything at all. Most of all, it reminded me of what good friends we had -- how lucky we all were to have our little family.

Brian was still sleeping when Rob, Adam, and the girls arrived at the house a couple of hours later, but I knew he wouldn’t be sleeping for long after that, since a child’s version of “quiet” was a lot different from an adult’s. He joined us in the living room just as Adam was carrying in the last of their bags and was immediately attacked with a bear hug from Sophia that I was afraid might end up being painful, but if it was, he didn’t seem to mind. When she let him go and slid down off his lap, I saw the first genuine smile I’d seen from him in three days. Esme was quite a bit more cautious, as she always was, but her hug was just as well received.

The hug Rob and Brian shared was long -- reminiscent of the one Brian had shared with Michael when we’d first arrived in Pittsburgh, although instead of both of them clinging to one another like it had been with Michael, this was just Brian clinging to Rob. I knew Rob was another person Brian would be willing to be “real” with, so I was grateful they were there.

Rob immediately took on the caregiver role -- showing his midwestern nature that Brian always teased him about. He made sure Brian and I had everything we needed, and started turning the food my mom had stocked our refrigerator with into things we could eat with very little effort. It was nice to have someone else taking care of both of us, so I wouldn’t have to keep trying to find the balance of making sure Brian was okay while simultaneously making sure I wasn’t neglecting myself. Much like Brian’s nerve pain, my headache the day before had been my warning sign that I needed to do things a little bit differently.

However, I knew the next couple of days were going to be hard to get through, no matter how we felt.

I was also so, so thankful Rob and Adam had brought Esme and Sophia. I never could have imagined what a benefit their distraction would provide, but just sitting in the living room drawing a picture or two with Esme had transported me to a place where I felt like I didn’t have a care in the world, at least for a few minutes at a time. And I hadn’t realized how much I needed that.

Brian was at the kitchen table, talking quietly to Rob, who was busy transforming vegetables into soup, while Esme and I worked on a drawing and Sophia took a nap. Adam was out for a run, since they’d left New York very early in the morning and he hadn’t been able to do it before they left. All in all, it was a peaceful moment in the midst of the chaos we’d been swept into on Friday afternoon.

Eventually, Sophia wandered out of the bedroom, rubbing her eyes, and joined Esme and me on the floor of the living room. But her attention span was short lived, running out once she was fully awake and back to her normal energy level. Soon, she was standing in the kitchen, tapping Brian on the arm and saying, “Uncle Brian, will you take me to the park? The one I saw down the street?”

Rob put down the spoon he’d been using to stir the soup and turned around. “Soph,” he said patiently, “I told you Daddy or I would take you later.”

“But I wanna go now,” she whined.

“I can't take you right now. I'm busy, and Daddy isn't back yet. Maybe he can take you when he gets back, if you're good.”

“I'll take her,” Brian said, already disengaging his brakes and backing up from the table. “I could use some air.”

“Yeah, we need air,” Sophia mimicked matter-of-factly, her hands on her hips.

I chuckled, imagining what she was going to be like as a teenager, considering how much of a spitfire she already was at only six.

“You sure?” Rob asked, giving Brian a questioning look. “She's a handful.” Rob also knew exactly what Brian had going on today -- with the added benefit of having experienced it himself -- so I was sure that was playing into his hesitation.

Brian shrugged. “It's fine.”

“Okay,” Rob agreed, though I could tell he was reluctant. He gestured for Sophia to come closer to him and put his hands on her shoulders, saying things to her in a low voice that I couldn't hear.

She kept nodding, then said, “I promise.”

“Why don’t we go too?” I said, gesturing to myself and Esme. I hoped that it might help alleviate some of Rob’s apprehension, if both Brian and I would be there. To be honest, I was also a little unsure about Brian going alone, because I could see that he still wasn’t feeling great. “That would be fun, right?” I turned to Esme and smiled.

The look on Esme’s face, however, told me exactly how not-fun she thought my idea was. “I just wanted to draw,” she said, sounding dejected, her shoulders slumping forward as she looked down at her sketch.

“We can find something to draw at the park,” I said, keeping my tone upbeat and positive. The park near our house in Pittsburgh was small, with just a couple of swings and a slide and a set of monkey bars, but I knew it would be a good opportunity for Sophia to run off some of her energy.

With a little prodding from Rob, Esme was eventually convinced to go with us, and she and I sat on a bench, drawing the fall wildflowers that made up part of the border between the park and the yard next door. Sophia, meanwhile, ran around the playground, giggling and squealing. Brian pushed her on a swing for a bit, until she got herself swinging high enough that he couldn’t reach her, then they moved on to the slide, where he sat at the bottom and “caught” her each time she came down. Most of all, though, I noticed the smile on Brian’s face, and I knew he was feeling the same thing I had when Esme and I started drawing in the living room -- a much-needed reprieve from the heavy emotion of the last couple of days.

After awhile, Brian and Sophia ended up sitting on the grass together, talking and laughing and pointing at things around the park, while Esme and I worked on our sketch with the colored pencils I’d brought.

We stayed at the park for well over an hour before making our way back to the house, where Rob’s vegetable soup was smelling delicious. We invited Michael and Ben over for dinner and spent a couple of hours chatting in the living room before we all parted ways -- Michael and Ben back to their house, Rob and Adam to their bedroom to get the girls ready for bed, and Brian and I to our own room.

Brian and I had showered and were lying in bed, me absently running my hand over the smooth, still slightly damp skin of his back, when Brian suddenly spoke, his voice soft and pensive. “She asked me if Debbie went to heaven.” I could clearly hear the emotion behind his words. “When we were at the park.”

“What did you tell her?” I asked gently, wondering where this conversation was headed, but already having an inkling that it might not be good.

“I told her yes, I guess she did.” He sighed. “But I don’t know. I’ve never…” He stopped and took a breath. When he exhaled, it was shaky. “I’ve never had to think about this.”

I kept running my hand up and down Brian’s back. Brian and I never really talked about religion. It was a painful subject for him, to say the least, given that his biological mother had used her own religion as an excuse to not accept her only son.

“I guess I need for there to be something,” he whispered. “Even if it’s just that she’s out there among the stars.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.” I wrapped my arm around Brian and pulled our bodies close. This was something I hadn’t thought much about either, but I completely understood his need to feel like there was somewhere for Debbie’s kind, loving spirit to have gone when it left her earthly body -- that it hadn’t just faded away into nothing. “I think you’re right. She’s out there among the stars, shining bright, just like she always did.”

Brian gave me a half smile, and I could see the tears glistening in his eyes before he closed them. “I like that,” he said, his voice barely audible.

I kept my arm around Brian long after his breathing had evened out and he’d gone to sleep, before I rolled over onto my back and looked up at the ceiling, imagining the night sky beyond it. Thinking of Debbie, out there among the stars, as I sent up a silent prayer for the strength I knew we would need to get through the next 48 hours.