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I was reading through a photography forum with the emphasis on Tattoo photos. The thread asked people to post pictures of their tattoos and stories or explanations behind the tattoos. As I was reading some of the entries I came across this one.
I had wanted one since I was a kid in the early 80s, no doubts about it. Our friend owned a
studio in NY and his girlfriend (with her purple hair and facial piercings and all her ink) was
the prettiest thing I'd ever seen when I was 5. I loved that she had a purple mohawk and all
those gorgeous tattoos. I was hooked then.
I turned 18 and moved right in with the guy I ended up marrying, and something always
prevented us from going and getting one done for me. It just didn't happen.
January 12, 2006, my husband died in his sleep at the age of 34 from a rare disease,
Marfan's. I went on the one year anniversary for a tattoo for him. I wear the scars from his
death, our relationship, and our life together with or without a tattoo on my arm, but I may as
well put it out there that my life has been changed by another human being, that's why I have
this birthday and date of death as the main theme.
How random, and depressing. When I read that the man's age was 34 and that he died from a "rare disease" I didn't need to know that the next word in the sentence was Marfan, I already knew.
me too...I knew...
I love you son...mtywek
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