I said goodbye to my best friend 39 days ago. The events of the day up until that moment are forever burned into my memory. What took place after that moment is a total blur. I honestly have no recollection of how I even drove home from the hospital that night with Mia and Collin in tow. I do however recall that when the kids and I finally piled into the bed that Bryan and I shared for so many years that the acknowledgement of him never sharing that bed again with me took the breath out of my lungs. He left April 4 in the early hours of the morning heading to the ER to never return home. The days of isolation at his office still connected me to him even though we could not physically be together. We talked, texted and I would drop off essentials to him whenever he was low on clothes or food. Always from behind the glass door and speaking on the phone, we would interact trying to act like this was normal. It was anything but normal. I believe we each both harbored a fear that was never expressed--the same fear. A fear that life would never be the same. This was the absolute truth. When I begged him to return to the ER on April 13 it was already too late. What was going on with his body couldn't be reversed or undone. In my heart I always knew it was Covid. There was no other explanation. Test after negative test never calmed my fears. Ever. I knew the tests weren't 100% accurate and the timing of the testing was critical. No one could ever give me an alternate explanation as to why my healthy 41 year old husband was so sick. I was determined to know why we lost him. I had to know the cause for myself and for my kids. I guess in my mind I thought it would also bring me some peace. I was wrong. The emotions that it brought up were anything but peaceful and conclusively confirmed both our fears. Regardless of the cause we lost him. Knowing the cause would never ease the pain. The moment Bryan's heart stopped our lives forever changed. 

I recall hearing something years ago about defining moments. There are moments which forever mark your life. These are the moments in which you realize nothing will ever be the same and from that moment forward you will divide time into two parts: before this and after this. Losing Bryan was this for me. Outside of McKinlea's door hangs a sign that reads-- Home is where your story begins. Bryan was my home for almost 24 years. He was the center of my world. The place I began and ended my day and took solace in knowing would be there in times of sadness, fear, instability or uncertainty. He was my happy place where I could laugh, learn and feel loved. A sanctuary to share and express myself without fear of judgement. He respected me and encouraged me to be who I truly was and always supported me in whatever way he could. He took care of me when I wasn't able to take care of myself. He always put the needs of his family before his and ultimately the care and concern he had for us inevitably protected us from what took his life. I am left feeling completely displaced; I have lost my home. 
 
I read the mind replays what the heart can't delete. I hear the sound of his voice when he said my name which was rare because he typically called me honey or babe. I hear the sound of his laughter when he came to me to share something funny he found on Facebook or a meme a friend sent him. I hear the sound of his truck as he backed into his space on the driveway and the way he greeted McKinlea as soon as he made his way through the door. I can see the smile that overtook his face when he talked about how proud he was of something the kids had done or when he shared a good moment from his day at the office. I can smell the cologne that he sprayed right before we walked out the door for a date night and the look of love and pride he gave me when I got into the car and he told me how lucky he was to be taking me out. I see him in the faces of my kids when they look at me and instantly recall how he looked the moments each of them were born. Where my memory might fail me my heart never will. 

Coming back to this site was something I have dreaded and downright avoided. This space was a place to communicate on behalf of our family. I made sure to never put anything that if the kids or Bryan were to read it would violate their privacy or be in any way reflective of a point of view that truly wasn't theirs. My posts were always my words, my feelings, my perspective. I will never speak for my children or try to express the feelings they have about the loss of their dad. I know what is is like to lose a husband. I do not know what it is like to lose my dad at such a young age. Loss cannot be compared or picked apart to determine who is suffering more or less. Loss is loss. Coming back to this would be me facing reality. The last tie to the hope that I never lost until the end that Bryan would make it through this. This wasn't how it was meant to be. B was supposed to wake up. We would then do the work to get him back home. The road would have been long and hard but we would have gladly tackled the challenge. Side by side like we did everything else in our relationship we would have made the best of whatever our new normal would be. Where he was weak I was strong and vice versa. Covid took that possibility away from us. Covid robbed the kids and I of years with Bryan and a whole lifetime of memories that would never be made and moments that would never be shared as a family of five.

Grief is not linear. The kids and I are learning that it's possible for a part of you to die while you are still living. The emotions range in a way I could have never expected or prepared for. For me, I have experienced more than one death with his passing. Along with the physical death of his body I am also grieving the death of the life we had and the life that lay before us. The Five Vaughans no longer exist. I am also learning it is perfectly okay to admit you're not okay. That's a hard one for me but one I am gradually settling into and helping the kids to realize as well. My children are the most amazing human beings. In the midst of their grief when they should be looking to me for support they are literally breathing life into me. They are my reason and my purpose. Each day they save me. Out of our love Bryan and I created the most precious, loving, caring, unique and amazing human beings. Together in our grief we will support and love one another while working each day to pave the new path we are creating as a family of four. I know B is here. I know he is watching. I know he is proud. He will always be with us. His legacy will continue in the lives of his children and the dreams they will bring to life, the business he worked so hard to build, the relationships he fostered and always and forever in my heart.