Forever on my Skin, Always on my mind…
There is something healing in doing something permanent to commemorate someone you love. After the mass has ended, the ashes have been spread and people begin to move on there is something satisfying in doing something that will serve as a reminder to everyone, but most importantly a reminder to yourself.
Some will frown at the idea of tattoo’s and marking your skin for the rest of your life. I am not one of those people. I think there is beauty through this form of expression. I think when it is done right and tastefully that tattoos can be a powerful statement. That’s what I wanted, what I needed, and what I did.
Many people say that they can feel their loved one around them after they have passed. I’ve tried, I’ve really tried. But, I don’t know if I really do feel my Dad. Maybe sometimes I do, but it’s not a consistent feeling. I know he is watching over me, protecting me, and helping me in ways I’m probably unable to realize. I know that, but I wanted to feel that. I wanted to feel him.
Yesterday marked a month since my Dad has been gone. Yesterday, I decided to make sure I did something permanent to commemorate him. Nervously, I walked into the tattoo shop to do that. I needed to do something special, something that would be a testament to how special he was to me. So, I took the sound wave of his voice saying, “Hey Baby, It’s Dad“. This is how he always greeted me, how I would like to imagine he will greet me when we are reunited at the end of my life years and years from now. I took this sound wave and transferred it in the form of a tattoo to my left inner forearm.
The second it was done I felt him. I think I felt him more in that moment than I have felt him since I returned to school. The feeling hasn’t faded, it’s constant. That is what I wanted. I also wanted to be able to share my Dad with as many people as possible. He may physically be gone, but I hope to be able to share him and talk about him till I myself am gone. This way he will live forever. Well, turns out the tattoo is a pretty good way to get to brag about how lucky I was for 19 years. Today, while checking out in line the clerk asked me what my tattoo was of. With a smile, I got to tell him what it meant.
This is how I will keep my Dad alive. This is how I will keep the man who left to soon, who was gone so suddenly, alive forever. My friend told me that people die twice. They die when their physical body is gone, and again when they are spoken about for the last time. For as long as I live, I know the second will never happen.