Finally got my ink.  Lu has had hers for a few weeks now and every time I saw it on her wrist I got jealous.  Not jealous in a bad way, but more a yearning, a need to have one too.

It was a strange feeling, driving home from the tattoo shop with my friend (and amazing artist) Cindy.  I was thrilled and proud of what she had just put on my arm.  I felt more correct and complete with this transformation revealed.  But I was sad, too.  Sad that this was what I had to do.  That this is all I get.

I could create an endless list of all the moments I will not have with Silas.  I live them all in my heart every day.  His swift passage through our lives has changed us irrevocably.  But that is not something you can see just by looking at us.  We appear as though we’re just regular ole people strolling through the world.

Now there is proof.

To reflect the change within, to honor our son, to remind us with both pain and beauty, to capture the raw and terrible truth of this time in our lives, for all of these reasons we have decided to have permanent marks placed on our skin.

Everyone else gets birthdays and love and laughter and first words.  We got tattoos.  It totally and completely fucking sucks but at least we have this.  It’s not nearly as much as we want or deserve, but it’s more than we had before that inky needle pierced our skin, and that, at least, is something.

These tattoos are not lousy.  They are beautiful and heartbreaking and perfectly correct.  We are thrilled that our dear friend Cindy created these designs for us and then took the many careful hours to place them in our skin.

They will be with us forever, just like Silas.

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