38 Days and a Tattoo Later...

It's been 38 days since my husband, Dave, died of complications due to Covid-19. It still feels unreal. If I leave work later (which I find I do more often than not now), I catch myself thinking that I need to call Dave to let him know I'll be late and ask if he can wait to eat supper or if he already had eaten. The backpack that he carried in his car everyday still sits in my bedroom floor ready to go again.

Yesterday, I went by his work to see just how many tools he had. The answer is too many to want to think about. I wanted to meet Megan, the HR person who has helped me so much. She was overseeing the company's Covid-19 vaccines. You almost made it, Dave. She said she had something for me and asked me to wait. I did. I cried as I watched his coworkers get the vaccine that could have saved his life. She came back and gave me a shadow box with his name and his 5 and 10 year coins for years service. I cried again.

After I left Riggs, I met Jadyn. We were getting tattoos in memory of Dave. I designed mine, an infinity symbol with his name in the left oval and 2/2/21 in the right oval. Even though he died on 2/2/21, my love for him will last forever. Jadyn decided he wanted something different. "Go big or go home" is his motto. His appointment is 3/26, and he plans to get a Celtic cross on his left pec with " II - II - MMXXI" on the side.

I haven't missed a day of going to his grave and talking to him. Yesterday, I had to admit to getting a tattoo. Dave didn't really like them. Oh the irony. I told him I knew he was probably swirling in his urn (since he can't turn over in his grave), but I wanted this to be with me forever. I think he would understand and just smile the way he did with any cockamamie idea I had.

38 days. I made it one month. Now to make it the rest of my life...