***It was nearly 3 years ago that I got my Memorial tattoo for myself. While reminiscing I found the blog I wrote about the experience less than 6 months after he was killed. Since we sometimes forget where we've come from in the midst of the grief, healing, and journey that takes place, I thought I'd share this.
Nearly 5 hours after sitting down on that black chair , with a pillow in front of me, I was done. The concept I had been pondering, freaking out, and looking forward to is finally on my back...a lot of my back!! I love it. The pain really could be best described as a hot scalpel cutting through flesh and bone. Half the time I had my eyes closed counting to keep my mind off the pain or trying to look at all the ghetto tattoo flash adorning the walls. I can't believe I did it and I do feel a tad bit stronger in this very weak world of mine. Now I just hope and pray it heals correctly and ends up gorgeous. After it was finally finished, I think it was a combination of the pain and the anticipation.....I lost it. I don't know if it made it even more real that Michael is not coming home or what...it just was a lot to take in. I got home and started washing sheets and towels and kind of lost it. I wanted to call Michael...tell him all about it or at least hear one of his smart ass remarks......none were to be heard.