Self love

Self-love is something Brandon taught me, or at least something he helped me embrace. I’ve always been a naturally giving person—my instinct is to be generous and to pour myself into others. But that generosity has come at a cost. I’ve been used. I’ve put my family’s finances in jeopardy. I’ve put strangers before myself, thinking I was doing the right thing.

Brandon, in his own way, encouraged me to put myself first. Maybe at times it came from a selfish place, but the result was that I began to understand boundaries. I started asking myself hard questions: Does this person truly need help? Do they want help? Do they deserve it? And am I the right person to give it?

My virtual cup still runs on empty more often than I’d like, but now I try to listen to my body’s cues and respect its limits. Brandon helped me see that caring for myself isn’t selfish—it’s necessary.

I miss him a lot today.

39 days.

Long Live

Long Live

He used to tell this one EverQuest story with such light in his eyes. It was about the days when his guild would camp out, waiting for an Epic Quest mob to appear. Sometimes the wait lasted days, and they had a phone tree set up so no one would miss it. It was a different era of gaming — slow, communal, and full of anticipation. He loved when it was like that. The guilds weren’t just teammates; they were his family.

Kevin, his brother, once called him a passionate adventurer of fantastical realms, and it was true. Brandon would often lament that gaming wasn’t the same anymore, that the magic had changed. I’d gently remind him that family doesn’t always look the same as it once did — but it can still serve the same purpose. For him, that family had become me, Rem, and Kevin. Small, yes, but fiercely devoted to him.

That EverQuest memory was one of his treasured chapters. He didn’t want to close the book on it; he wanted to relive it with me. I feared gaming would never feel the same to him as it had back then. Now, I fear it will never feel the same for me — or for Rem — without him.

Brandon wore his black baseball cap like a crown. In those game worlds, we were kings and queens — ordinary people who, for a while, ruled our own little universes. We built magic together, crashed through impossible walls, and shared victories that only made sense to us. And even if the rest of the world didn’t understand, in those moments we were unforgettable.

I’ve always been a gamer in my own way — Oregon Trail, Carmen Sandiego, The Sims, consoles. A decade ago, he introduced me to the world of MMOs. We started with a beautiful one called Neverwinter, set in the Dungeons & Dragons universe. Together we followed quest lines, unraveled stories, and faced world bosses — the most thrilling being the dragons.

We didn’t always play perfectly together. Sometimes we fought. One of our last disagreements was over a game. But it didn’t matter. Whether we were working in perfect sync or bickering through a dungeon, I had the time of my life fighting dragons with him.

Before a boss fight or dungeon run, he’d turn to us and say, “Let’s go make a difference.” And to me — Mazikeen — he’d say, Live.

And so, my love, this is the final quest we began together — the one where I carry your banner forward. The servers may go quiet, the maps may fade, but in my heart, you are always logged in.

Enjoy your spectator mode my love