Arrowhead

Allow me to tell you about my grandfather. When I was a child, I spent an untold number of hours with my grandfather. He was tall and handsome, and absolutely full of life. He was also a collector, stopping every chance he could to pick up some small trinket or interesting object to add to his collection. He was particularly fond of Native American arrowheads. He loved finding them and showing them off. We would often roam the river bank behind his neighborhood looking for those little stone triangles, and we found a ton. Going to grandpa's house meant I was coming home with a bounty of colorful rocks and arrowheads, and the prospect always excited me. It wasn't until much later that I found out that he would buy replica arrowheads and pre-shined rocks and scatter them across the riverbank the day before I came to visit. He just wanted to see me smile. As I got older, however, my excitement dwindled. I suffered from the same idea that all teenagers suffer from: the idea of immortality. I let my relationship with my grandfather slip away until I had stopped talking to him entirely. Even though he was such a large part of my childhood, he rarely crossed my adult mind. The idea that, one day, I would never be able to speak to my grandfather again never crossed my mind. Then, one day, while on deployment, I received an email saying that he was on his deathbed, dying from leukemia. He passed shortly after. I never got to say goodbye, and I had to miss his funeral. The news took a heavy toll on me. I regretted every time I didn't call, and every time I didn't visit. I desperately prayed for the opportunity to go back and do it over again. Begged God to let me wander the river bank with him one more time. I would never hear his cheesy jokes, hear his goofy laugh, or see his wide smile ever again. I hated myself for abandoning him like I did. Shortly after my deployment, I visited my mother, who was still struggling with his death. My grandfather was not a wealthy man, and he had few possessions, but to my surprise, i was presented with a box that he left me. Inside was a handwritten letter from him that explained how much he loved me, and that he was sorry we didn't get to spend more time together. It was filled with his cheesy humor, and his trademarked life advice. The box also contained his collection of rare coins and arrowheads. Even after all that time, even after dodging all of his calls and avoiding him for years, all he wanted was to see me smile. The week I returned home, I got this tattoo. I knew I wasn't going to be able to go back and fix the mistakes I made, but I knew I had the power to prevent it from happening again. This tattoo functions as a memorial for my grandfather, and also constantly reminds me that life is sacred, and temporary. It reminds me that anyone can return to the earth at any time, and that it is best to make the most of the time I have with the people I love. I'm never going to let myself forget that again.