Last Friday the 13th, I was a mess. I had just started school; I was getting used to schedules and rules and people who didn’t know I was broken. I was making an effort and trying to be a person in society again. I’m always trying.
Tattoo honoring my stillborn child
Last Friday the 13th was also the point of equidistance—as equally spaced between the day that Adrian died as that day was from the “beginning” (first day of my last menstrual period) of my pregnancy with him. I thought it fitting, then, that this was the day my tattoo artist had available.
I found her through a fluke. She didn’t often work in my area, but her name came up on two separate occasions. When we met, it felt right.
I also found Engrave Ink, a company that processes cremation ashes into tattoo ink. They have a special process, and did everything with care.
And on 13 April 2018, a day that will always be memorable to me, I had Adrian’s footprints permanently embedded on my ribs. Embedded within me. He lives beneath my skin.