A creature of nostalgia, I can’t help but call out today as another special anniversary in my mind and my heart. As mentioned in an earlier blog, last May the instant Ken saw Katie’s PadLo tattoo on her shoulder, he said, “I want one” with an impassioned tone. It was part demand, part plea, and completely undeniable. Though most of his pain was being well controlled by methadone and a host of other assisting drugs, I was terrified for him to go through any more physical trauma–and worried about all the possible mishaps that could occur along the way if we deviated from our normal routine. Sometimes I felt the tremendous weight of being the only thing between him and utter chaos and pain, and it paralyzed me at times–which is why I learned to not think about it too long.

His arm had grown so frail I worried applying a tattoo would hurt him. But he kept asking, and I kept saying no–that we needed our medical staff to sign off on it first. Truthfully, I hoped he’d forget about it. But as muddled as his mind was beginning to be, this is one topic that never left him. He was the proverbial dog with a bone. He even took it upon himself to call the overseeing physician (behind my back!) and eventually got approval, as long as we let the tattoo artist know his condition. I hadn’t seen him so giddy in a very long time. I think he enjoyed taking point to have all my concerns addressed. He was single-minded in needing to achieve this goal and wouldn’t settle for anything less than success.

Ken and Katie had previously met with Patrick, the tattoo artist at Speakeasy, on their Grand Day Out a week earlier while she visited. Though he was a highly coveted artist who had a six-month waiting period, they had managed to get an appointment for Ken just a week later. So on May 19, 2011 I packed up the car with all the accoutrement I thought we’d need–O2 tank, wheel chair, pain meds, and xanax (for me!) Then loaded everything–including Ken and (original) PadLo into the Prius for the short journey to the very artsy Flat Iron building in Wicker Park for our appointment.

His composure and peacefulness are way more apparent to me now than they were then. Hindsight is 20/20 for sure.

It was like taking a little boy to see Santa, and I’ll never forget the “lightness” in the car–in spite of the waters in which we were steeped. He was so excited and I was so nervous–about everything–that I realized I had to hop on board this train and join in on the fun–or at least fake it expertly. He was in high spirits that day, though at this point he wasn’t alway making a lot of sense. He struggled for words to express himself–always hard to watch when I knew what a brilliant mind lay inside his head. Our drive there was filled with anticipation and relaxed conversation–like the old days before most all of our trips involved cancer or surgery or treatments.

Ken was soon comfortably situated in his wheelchair in Patrick’s work area as he began to go to town on drawing the tattoo. The artist was very personable and oozed a sense of ease and calm that I–for one–was particularly grateful for. Something about this experience returned a little of the “my” Ken, as he chatted away so naturally with Patrick and me. He’d gotten his infamous leg tattoo on his left shoulder there years before and always talked about what a great experience it was and how talented Patrick is. And since I’d know him he talked about returning to Patrick to get another tattoo. What an honor to be there for the actual achievement of this wish.

With is arm shaved and (original) PadLo on his shoulder–and me standing by with an arsenal of pharmaceuticals that would have made Charlie Sheen blush, the caper truly began. It was easy and (mostly) fun, as the three of us talked. I’d walk over to get a better look at the progress he was making and was impressed each time. I was equally impressed how little it seemed to hurt Ken, but given everything he’d been through in his life he had a remarkably high tolerance for pain. The look on Ken’s face throughout the process was priceless, and I hope I never forget his childlike excitement and enthusiasm–so bittersweetly like the Ken I fell in love with ten years before.

PadLo’s outline seemed to come quickly, and I was impressed with Patrick’s work–as was Ken.

Next, PadLo was outlined:

We were there for about three hours before heading home to sit in the back yard and prepare for the unveiling and post-tat lotion treatment. He was so excited and so pleased that he and I had gone on another adventure together. He knew well what a stretch it was for me to leave my comfort zone and never failed to appreciate it–despite…everything he was going through.

And the final reveal of our caper:

I’m ashamed to say that part of my hesitation about getting this tattoo was because we knew Ken wasn’t going to be around much longer. What would be the point when we could spend the time doing something more meaningful? Well, the pic above and his attitude and excitement prior to and during the caper were obvious answers. I have to say it healed very quickly with little pain, and it became such a source of great pride for him. Any visitor or hospice worker who stopped by was treated to this magnificent artwork and the story of how it came to be. He loved to brag about how into it I was and that he couldn’t have done it without me.

It’s the most demonstrative example of how some exercises in life are purely for the journey–destination be damned. And I’m ever grateful I could be there with him to share in it.

He wrote a blog about it that day and sent it to me for editing, but unfortunately it was pretty indiscernible. The cancer or the drugs or the concert of both began ebbing the sharpness of his once-detail-fascinated mind. What I could discern is that he was very pleased I’d jumped on board to support this decision after the medical questions had all been answered, and that he loved the entire experience.

As I wrote this blog I realized it was the last of a long line of distinguished adventures we shared together. And in thinking of it in that way it is…sad, poignant and powerful. But in thinking about this particular journey, it was wild, fun, and so gratifying. I’d catch him looking at his tattoo from time to time, snapping photos to text to people or just beholding it himself.

And though I still have original PadLo, Patrick gave me the original artwork he based the tattoo on. And it sits brightly next to a photo of us on our wedding day, heading back from Iowa (where same sex marriage had recently become legal) in 2009.

And that’s where this treasure will always be found–near Ken and in my fondest memories.