I finally did it! I got a tattoo. It’s my son’s name, David, in braille. I put it on my right wrist so every time I shake a hand, eat a sandwich, kneed pasta dough, drink coffee, brush my teeth, practice my guitar, play a game with my grandchilren, lift my hands in worship, or take a shower, I see it and am reminded of the incredible privilege I had of being David’s dad.
You see the picture we have of David sitting on our bookshelf in the family room never changes. His impish smile, his eyes unseeing yet alive, and the slight nod of his head indicating he is straining to listen to someone or something is locked in time. It will never change, unlike the pictures of my other two boys and thier families.
Last week Brenda and I were talking and I said, “It almost seems like our life with David was in another lifetime.” It seems like a dream. Living in Florida we are no longer surrounded by people who knew David and would remind us of him. While we are still very involved with David’s Refuge, we live 1400 miles from where the action is taking place. Memories of him slowly are eroding away. I don’t ever want to forget who David was. So I got a tattoo.
So the next time you shake my hand and see the braille on my right wrist, ask me, “What are all those dots about on your wrist?” I can’t wait to tell you all about the incredible person David was and the privilege I had of being his dad.