Tattoos and Courage

Taryn was so brave.  She loved tattoos.  And they hurt.  She always told me I was too big a wimp to ever get one and for the past few years since she died I've wanted to go to her tattoo artist and get my tattoo of her celtic cross and roses put on my arm in the same place she had it on her right arm.  She was right.  I'm a wimp.  Just the thought of it makes me cringe.  But she never did.  She just didn't have enough money to cover her whole arm or she would have.  I remember thinking when we had her cremated that her beautiful tattoos were going to be erased to powder and her courage and bravery were going to go up in smoke too.  Nothing was lost.  Her courage and her bravery went with her so there was really no danger in losing anything.  She was proud of her tattoos.  They were the symbol of her bravery and her resolve to be who she was.  Unique and one of a kind.  At first I mourned over her pure white skin having a permanent mark on it but after I got used to the design and it became part of her it was beautiful to me.  SHE was beautiful in all she did to herself.  I learned a lot from that.  I learned not to react so much to things at first.  Let stuff sink in and marinate.  Once it did it became more.  Beautiful.  Part of something bigger than it was without the change.  THAT was such a huge lesson for me.  Just one more thing she taught me.