I Love You

The doorbell rings, and my attempts to reach the front door ahead of our black lab Bruno fail. Settle down, boy; it’s not for you. My words do not do the trick; Bruno is going nuts with excitement. I crack the door open, and Jack backs up. Bruno is intimidating.

Jack

Jack is a twenty-something dude with one of those hipster beards, a trend I don’t quite get (how do you care for it? Do you need a special shampoo? What about food? Does it itch? Why?) …so many questions. Nonetheless, Jack happens to wear the beard freakishly well; it suits him.

I am here to winterize your sprinkler system, he says. Right, meet me in the garage.

Jack is polite, professional, and asks appropriate questions regarding water shut-off, zones, etc. I ignore him completely. I am fixated on his arm. My inner voice turns on: sorry, Jack, I will need a minute to discuss your ink. So, I dive in: I love your tats; what is their story? He pauses and gives me a questionable look. I catch him off guard; he is uncertain about how to take my inquiry. He hesitates for a second and then confesses that no one ever asks. Well, I am asking. So, what’s the scoop with all the I love you’s?

They are my reminder tattoos: replica handwritings of the essential people in my circle: my wife, son, parents, best friend, and myself. They serve as a reminder that I matter, I am needed, and I am loved.

Oh my, you are loved by many. What a blessing. This is powerful and truly beautiful.

And then he says, I struggle with depression. I look at my arm on dark days, remind myself I am not alone, and remember that the sun will rise again.

Now, I am caught off guard and speechless. I stand there with all kinds of goosebumps and ‘feels’ for his inspirational words. I want to hug him and tell him that I love him too. Of course, I don’t. Can you imagine the crazy customer going in for a hug …weirdo…instead, I thank him for sharing, and he says, no, thank you for asking.

Hey, I see you have some space left in your arm. Yup, he says, I want to make sure I leave room for more love —children, people, and happiness.

Dang it, Jack, you are going to make me cry. Do you mind if I make this a Kodak moment (he has no idea what this means)? Can I take a photo of your arm? Your tattoos carry an important message; I want to share it with my people.

As he walks away, I am confident this was not a chance meeting. I say a little prayer: May his arm be enough to illuminate his worst days, and may his empty spaces be filled with the best possible kind of love.

I can’t help but think of the many who could use this armor in their lives, a daily dose of I love you, I can and I will, I am worthy, I am enough, and this too shall pass. Jack has the fortitude to look out for himself- a message to himself- for moments when he may not be as strong. I am curious, if you could tattoo yourself, what would it say? What words do you need to hear on dark days?

Funny, life consistently delivers messages; we must be open to hearing them. Jack showed up to blow out my sprinklers and ended up blowing my mind. I am grateful I took the time to be curious, ask questions, and converse with a stranger. We must do more, peel layers with friends and strangers, to listen, learn, and grow. We can do better and be better.

And in case no one has told you today, I love you.

Xo, Mic