What happens after death?

I think I woke up on the wrong side of paradise, I thought as I opened my eyes on the day of Brendon's funeral. Patrick was still sleeping soundly on the other side of the room, but I couldn't sleep at all, even though the sun wasn't up yet. Nightmares of a vampiric Brendon rising from his coffin plagued me that night, so I thought that it would just be better to stay awake and work on my philosophy homework.

About an hour later, Patrick woke up. "Ryan, what are you doing up this early in the morning?" he asked me.

"I couldn't sleep," I told Patrick.

"If you're up, is it okay if I turn on some Elvis Costello?" Patrick asked, proving that despite everything that had happened over the past year, Patrick was still the same boy that he was when we first met. Perhaps seasons change, but people don't.

"That's fine," I said. Patrick turned on his music, and I tried to ignore it as I worked on my homework. I would have to leave for the funeral in a few hours, and it would be best if I could get some of my homework done before it started.

Those hours went by far too quickly. Before I knew it, it was time to leave. Patrick and I walked to the funeral home on the other end of Old Haven together. As I walked through the town, I wondered if this was the sort of funeral that Brendon would have wanted. I had never talked to Brendon about things like that, but I suspected that Brendon's ideal funeral would have been much more exciting than what his family had actually planned.

As we approached the funeral home, it was as if I could feel Brendon's presence. Where was he now? Was there some sort of afterlife that Brendon was living in now, or was he sticking around on Earth, just to haunt me? Maybe he had already been reincarnated, or maybe he truly was gone, and I was only making things up to make myself feel better. Then again, was there any harm in that? Dreaming didn't hurt anyone.

I opened the door to the funeral home, and I found Dallon standing near the door. "Hello Ryan," he said.

"Hi Dallon," I said weakly as I looked around the room. There were pictures of Brendon from throughout his life placed on each wall, and I spotted Brendon's parents and siblings dressed in black on the other end of the room. There were all sorts of other mourners packed into the funeral home, from Brendon's parents' friends from Las Vegas to a few of Brendon's old friends from Yale to people like me who had only known him in the last few years of his life. Our only connection was that we had all known Brendon Urie in some way. For a few moments, I felt as if I wasn't alone in my pain.

"When we were together, Brendon once told me that he wanted to be buried in Old Haven," Dallon said. "I'm glad that we were able to make that work."

I ignored Dallon and found the rest of the Guyliner Club crowded around a photo of Brendon singing at the Aubergine. Pete was already sobbing, while Patrick did his best to comfort him. I took a deep breath and told myself that I wouldn't cry. Brendon would have wanted me to stay strong. I could grieve as much as I wanted once I returned to Flack Hall.

I moved into the next room and took a seat near my friends. Pete, Patrick, Frank, Gerard, Spencer, and Laura were all right next to me, although I did find Dallon in the seat directly in front of me. As a priest started to speak about a God that Brendon didn't believe in, I thought again about the unfairness of all of this. Why did Brendon have to die? I knew that life was nothing but pure chaos, but why did that chaos have to go after my beloved boyfriend? I fought back tears as I thought of all of the people who were attending Brendon's funeral. At the very least, Brendon had made an impact on a lot of people in his short life.

Brendon's sister gave the first eulogy, giving a rather generic speech about the memories that she had shared with her younger brother. It was clear that she hadn't really known Brendon, at least not in the way that I had. Then again, what right did I have to complain? I hadn't known Brendon when he was young, even though we went to the same high school. I slumped back into my chair and listened to Brendon's sister speak. I would have much rather have had Brendon alive and by my side than having to attend his funeral, but I didn't have much choice in the matter.

After she was finished, the priest announced that "Dallon Weekes, Brendon's best friend, will give the next eulogy." Dallon got up from his seat and walked to the front of the room, where he took the microphone and began to speak. Nobody in the room, possibly including Dallon himself, seemed willing to acknowledge that he was Brendon's ex-boyfriend who hadn't even talked to him in nearly a year, but I kept my frustration to myself. Did the title of "best friend" mean anything anyways? What was in a name? I figured that it was unimportant, so I took a deep breath once again and listened to Dallon tell everyone about Brendon's enthusiastic nature and his singing, dancing, and acting talent.

The final eulogy was Gerard's. When Dallon returned to his seat, Gerard stood up and walked calmly up to the front of the room. I could hardly hear him over Dallon's sobs from the row in front of me. At last, I could see that Dallon was indeed in the same pain that I was in. As he cried, I tried to keep myself from breaking down too, but the hole in my heart wouldn't stop growing. I knew that both of us were in agony - was there any way to make it stop?

When Dallon's sobs quieted down, I finally got a chance to listen to Gerard's eulogy. He talked about how much Brendon meant to all of his friends at the Aubergine, and how much we would miss him. At the end, he declared, "Brendon Urie was too weird to live and too rare to die," making just about everyone attending the funeral tear up.

To conclude the ceremony, a few of Brendon's favorite songs played, ranging from classic rock songs to show tunes. At first, I was able to have some composure, but I lost it when "Blackbird" began to play. Normally, hearing the Beatles filled me with joy, but tears came to my eyes when I thought of how Brendon and I shared our love for the band.

At that moment, a rather dark thought entered my mind. What if it was my fault that Brendon died? I hadn't called 911 nearly as quickly as I should have, and perhaps if someone had helped Brendon earlier, he could have lived. Maybe he and I would be hanging out at the Aubergine or going on a date, but instead, he was in a coffin and I was at his funeral. Did this mean that I killed Brendon? Was all of my suffering my own fault? If there was an afterlife somewhere, would Brendon ever forgive me for this? I convinced myself that it was all my fault that Brendon was dead, and I cried even harder.

There was a brief reception after the ceremony, but I didn't have much of an appetite. How could I even attempt to celebrate Brendon's life when it was my fault that he was dead? Besides, there wasn't much to celebrate when Brendon had lived such a short life. He didn't have the time to change the world or even come close. Then again, most people don't change the world, even when they have a long time to do something significant with their lives.

Why do so many people live their lives like that, managing to live for decades upon decades without doing anything at all? Brendon had only lived for twenty one years, but he had managed to change my life, along with Dallon's, Spencer's, and several others. Perhaps changing other people's lives was the true goal of life. If that was the case, then that made what I had done even worse. I had killed Brendon before he had the chance to affect even more lives. What else could he have done if he had the chance to live longer?

I didn't even want to think about it. At that moment, I hated myself for what I had done. I was a philosopher - the word itself meant "wisdom lover," but I didn't have enough wisdom to save my boyfriend. What kind of a philosopher was I then? For that matter, what kind of person was I? No matter how I looked at it, I had failed Brendon and everyone else in the room. Brendon had believed that I would never wrong him, and yet, I had wronged him in the worst possible way. Everyone at the funeral was there because they loved Brendon, and I had failed them because it was my fault that Brendon was dead. The pain that I had gone through since Brendon's death was not mine alone. Everyone who was there shared in that pain, and I had made all of them suffer.

I wished that I had seen my mistakes earlier, but there was no point in dwelling on the past. I couldn't go back and fix it, although I wished that I could. I wanted nothing more than to go back in time and call 911 earlier, or perhaps hold that intervention a few days before Brendon's birthday instead of deciding to wait until afterwards. Brendon may have been a little bit annoyed, but it could have saved his life. Why hadn't I thought of these things before?

Patrick found me sitting by myself, bawling my eyes out. He took a seat next to me and said, "Ryan, are you okay?"

It was a question that I had been asked far too often since Brendon's death. "Not at all," I said.

Patrick gave me a hug and then said, "I understand. It's hard losing someone that you love."

"I don't think you understand," I said.

"I get it, Ryan," Patrick said. "I was friends with Brendon too."

I sighed and nodded, even though I was still sure that although Patrick did miss Brendon, he wasn't in the same kind of pain that I was. Patrick and Brendon had never been terribly close.

"This might be a bad time to mention this, but I scheduled an appointment with the Kale University Mental Health office for you," Patrick said. "Frank's a great guy, but he's clearly not cutting it as a therapist."

"Hey, I heard that!" Frank exclaimed.

"Please don't take it personally," Patrick said. "I just want Ryan to get better."

"Me too," Frank said. "He might need some professional help to get past this."

I contemplated it for a few minutes, but I decided that my friends were right. Brendon still haunted me, and perhaps I did need a professional to help me move on from this, especially since I knew that it was my thought. I gave Patrick and Frank a small nod, and Patrick said, "Come on. Let's go home."

I followed Patrick back to Flack Hall, barely able to breathe through my tears. I knew that I was a wreck, but at that point, there was nothing else that I could be. How else was I supposed to react? I stumbled into my residence hall, and as I did, the only thing I wanted was to have Brendon back.