One of my favorite pictures with Scottie. We were quite the pals when we were little!

Scottie died and I flailed, trying to make sense of the senseless.

We were 22 years old- he a mere 3 months older- when his heart stopped for reasons we'll never know. It used to be Jon-Scottie-Leigh in a cousin clump but now there was no Scottie with his artistic bent and sage wisdom. He measured his words, dispensing them when he felt he had something to contribute and we all learned to listen to this quiet young man.

His quiet demeanor left a larger hole than I knew possible.

The wake ran late and it must have been 8 o'clock before we headed to a steakhouse for dinner. My parents and brother sat with my aunt and uncle and cousin in one booth and I sat with Jon and Adam in a booth across from them.

We perused menus and Jon told me he was buying my drink. I ordered a gigantic strawberry margarita to my parents' chagrin. I didn't need the drink but I needed the drink.

Jon, Adam, and I talked about Scottie, the night we'd just experienced, and the impending funeral. The three of us moved over to the bar after our families headed back to the hotel. We weren't sure we could sleep. Adam bought me an Amaretto Stone Sour and we started talking about how we could honor a life ended too soon.

We talked about tattoos. Adam and Jon wanted to get ones done in Scottie's honor. We knew Pat, Scottie's brother, planned one, too. And as the alcohol rolled around my system, blurring my grief for a short time, I began thinking about what tattoo might memorialize Scottie.

Before the funeral began the next day, I whispered to Aunt Laurie about the idea slowly forming in my head. She loved the thought of us doing this and said she'd do it but she wasn't much of a tattoo person.

Grief made me long for the tangible. I could cry and I did. But I hated the lack of control in this situation, knowing how Scottie went to sleep after work and didn't wake up. 22 years old is so young. Far too young.

I needed to do something.

I thought about my first tattoo for a good couple of years before I actually got it. Here, the idea took hold and I knew there would be no waiting once I settled on the components.

A couple of months later, I walked into a local tattoo shop late Friday night with an image. The artist had recently rendered his own version, simple with minimal shading. I saw it as a sign. I decided to put it on my ankle so I could glance down and remember.

Celtic symbols had long resonated with me because of the beautiful design and my love of all things Irish. I chose a Celtic trinity symbol but not for the spiritual meaning.

When I looked at it, I thought of the past, present, and the future. I appropriated it for my time of mourning. I chose to remember the times we had together when Scottie was still alive, miss him now that he was gone, and look forward to the day we'd meet again.

Instead of adding his initials and dates of birth and death, I decided to let the symbol stand on its own. Since then, I've lost more loved ones and the tattoo reminds me again that this world is not all there is.

One day there will be no more tears or sorrow.

I look forward to that day.