I have this picture of my husband fly fishing. He loved to fish. He loved being out on the water, out in nature, just him and a rod, trying to outsmart the fish.
He won, more often than not.
And even if he didn’t – he loved it so much it didn’t matter.
This was the summer I had agreed to learn how to fly fish. This was the year there’d be two of us able to tie knots and select the right fly, and teach our boys how to fish and how to tie flies.
But I digress.
So there’s this picture.
And I want to have it tattooed on my back. Mostly just him, some rocks and some hint of water around him. And the fly rod – with the line wrapping around my body and ending up under my left breast. The last bit of the line would be his birth & death date, his initials and possibly our wedding date. And then a fly would be at the end of it, “hooked” into my heart.
So I sent the picture to the tattoo artist. I had taken the picture from his facebook account and it was low resolution so they wanted a higher resolution copy.
I started looking through his computer to see if this was on there, or if perhaps his brother had taken the picture.
There are so many pictures on his computer I had forgotten about. This started a lovely 20 minute crying jag… fuck I miss him… so badly… 😦
I can’t believe he’s not coming home… ever again…