Mamba Mentality

The thunder that rolled into our living room upon receiving the news of his death smelled like wet asphalt, like a new terrain that neither my husband or I were ready to step foot on.

A terrain where we were no longer walking alongside a boy who calculated his crawl into his manhood, unearthing every opportunity lying underneath every rock that he could. He started his crawl at the same time my husband and I started ours.

The clack that clacked in our room that day sounded like an unfair hymn that sung about years we would get to spend with our kids that he would not get to spend with his own.

And about a retirement that he earned, but would not get to live through.

An entire chapter (or two) that never even made it into the edited version of his book of life.

I have not picked up every rock in my court.

Because to pick up every rock is to confront my every fear of the unknown.

But from now on I will pick up every rock that I can clearly see

for my husband,

for my children,

and for me.

May this tattoo be my symbolic reminder of his thunder,

remind me and my family that there are more rocks in our court

and

give us the strength to lift up the heaviest of rocks,

embrace and engage

his (and now ours) mamba mentality. <3