Tomorrow is going to hurt.  Everyday does, really, but tomorrow it will be pain as a choice.  Pain we can own.

We’re getting tattoos in honor of our son.  Ink everlasting in our skin to capture an aspect of Silas that we can see every day.  Weird?  Maybe.  Not what you’d do?  That’s fine.  For both of us it feels perfect.

Same spot on each of us (inner wrist) slightly divergent designs.  Lu and I are alike in many ways, but in others so very very different.  She likes onions.  I can’t stand’em.  She’s hopeful and optimistic.  I’m a cynical bastard.  Both of our tattoos will contain the constellation Orion, though, and we can’t wait.

It has been a challenge to reconcile our two paths through this grief.  Lu wants to know everything about everything that went wrong that day.  I can’t know the data and statistics.  I can’t have this terrible lottery ticket in my head.  But I understand her need to have the details, it’s good that she will have them.  We balance each other out that way.

I also understand our need for permanent ink.  I want that constellation blazed across my wrist.  I want to feel the needle vibrating sharply through my skin creating stars I can stare at as often as I like.

The brief life of Silas seared our souls, and we need some beautiful scars to prove it.