Ink.

Sean had tattoos.  Many of them.  

And I loved each and every one of them.

I have a few of my own - a shamrock, the Joshua Tree and my mother's handwriting on my inner wrist.

I thought about getting a tattoo to honor Sean but wasn't sure what I wanted to do.  I had considered a map of Key West, but then decided no because I wanted it to be just for him - not necessarily something that represented our life together.  I thought about song lyrics, things we said to each other, his name and dates (although that one got nixed very quick - I always found those tattoos kind of morbid - and that's saying a lot from a dark and twisty gal like me.)

So I thought about the tattoos that he had.

Sean had back, chest and sleeve tattoos that created a scene with dragons and Samurai warriors.  When I asked him about it years ago, he said he just really liked it.  I liked it on him, but didn't feel it was appropriate for me.

On his back, he had a Canadian flag.  It was between his shoulder blades, about a hand length down from the base of his head and a little off center, veering a teensy bit towards the left. "Made in Canada" - like he could ever forget.  But I loved that about him - how he represented, with pride, where he was from.  How he wore his Canucks jersey to watch them play the Devils.  How he celebrated Canada Day even when it was just the two of us.  How his accent would slip out when he spoke with his sister or mom or his friend Holly.

So, I decided on what to do.  I called around and asked friends for recommendations on where to go.  I decided on a place and went in on Saturday.  I met my artist.  Mike.  I had the image and came prepared.  Mike was impressed.  I had the exact outline and size of what I wanted.  He placed the stencil exactly where I wanted it - even though it was a little off center, veering just a teensy bit towards the left.

And that's when the tears began.

I'm not a fan of needles.  The scene in Pulp Fiction makes my stomach drop.  Giving blood is a nightmare - mainly due to my "uncooperative" veins (Yes.  They've been called that.)

But I love the feeling of getting a tattoo.  For me there's no pain, no fear, no flinching.  It's comforting.  

Anyway, Mike asked if I was in pain.  When I told him why I was teary eyed, he stopped.  Gave me a tissue.  Told me to tell him when I was ready.  When I did, he started asking me questions about Sean and our relationship.  He laughed at some of the stories, and smiled at some of the others.  He told me how lucky I was to have the memories I do, because, even though ours was short on time, some people will never experience love like that.

And then he was done.  And he thanked me for giving him the honor of marking me with something so meaningful and precious.  And then he said "I hope I was able to make Sean proud."

I believe he did.