I was wrong.
Today, I had lunch with my brother for the first time in awhile. We live in the same city, but he's always away on business and off being important somewhere. So I was excited that we finally found a time to get together. We met at our favorite restaurant, and I immediately launched into a story about whatever trivial things were bothering me today. About 10 minutes into our lunch, my brother asked if I'd like to see his new tattoo he'd just gotten. Sure, I said. This is what he showed me:
J.B. Jack Benjamin. My brother got a tattoo for his nephew Jack who was gone too soon. The look on his face was priceless, and I will never forget it. It was an expression that was mixed with pride, excitement, and hesitation. I could tell he was so happy that he did it, but also worried that I wouldn't like it or think it was an okay thing to do.
Tears are welling in my eyes as I type this, because I can't describe how touched I am by what he did. I guess I just didn't understand how Jack's death has affected my family, and I LOVE the way that my brother has chosen to honor him. In his own way, my brother has shown me the mark that my son has made on his life, and shows me that he won't be forgotten.