The Inked Perspective

“Those we love never truly leave us. There are things Death cannot touch.” – Uknown

Another Memorial Day has come and gone. With it goes another year of missing friends, family, and loved ones. I always feel a twinge in my stomach when I see a bearded man bearing his brother’s names on a metal bracelet, or see a tattoo of boots and a cross; these men have experienced loss in a way that few ever will. For their sacrifice, we say thank you. To the ones left behind to bear the burden, we have your back. For my Veteran brothers and sisters who celebrate Memorial Day on a boat, in a room, or at a gravesite: I love you and am here for you.

Memorial tattoos are a special thing. On one hand, you have the constant reminder of what was permanently etched into your skin. 364 days out of the year, we look at them and smile with fond memories. Every person who has a memorial tattoo, however, has that one day out of the year that holds a greater significance; oftentimes with greater heartache.

I have one memorial tattoo, the story of which I will share with you.

I was 17 when I met Kompton Andrew Haas. He was a big boy (I do mean big) from Omaha, Arkansas. We met through a mutual group of friends and quickly became buddies. From sneaking bottles of liquor or just riding the Branson strip with the extremely loud speakers of his truck rattling the populace, Kompton was almost always smiling.

To say he had a heart of gold would be the understatement of the century. I can’t think of one instance where he was ugly to someone, even when they deserved it. When my immediate response was to put my hands up and get ready to fight, Kompton left those being mean to him dazzled by his brilliance or chuckling at his jokes. He was truly one of a kind.

When I left to join the Air Force, Kompton made me promise to stay in touch, and I did. From basic to when I got ready to deploy to Iraq, Kompton was always making sure I was ok. While I was deployed he picked up EVERY phone call, despite the 8 hour time difference. When I got back, Kompton and I made plans to see each other when I was home on leave. I worked nights at the time, but I called him at the beginning of my shift to let him know that my leave got approved. I was finally heading home and we talked for an hour or two about everything we were going to do when I got home, the first time in almost two years. I went to sleep on April 1st at 9am. I woke up to six missed calls from a friend at the time. When I called him back, he told me Kompton had passed away in his sleep that morning, hours after I had talked to him.

I put a pair of praying hands surrounded by fire with his area code, 870, beneath. Kompton wasn’t religious, but it seemed fitting. I look at that tattoo in the mirror at least 300 days out of the year, but on April 1st, I look at it a little bit more.

If you’re thinking of getting a memorial piece for a loved one, pet, celebrity, or something else that has passed on; do it. Those of us who lose something cherished seek to grieve in different ways and honoring them with your flesh is a great way to do it.

Hug your loved ones. If you can’t hug them, call them. If you can’t call them, write them. If you can’t write them, pray for them. If you don’t pray, that’s ok, tell them out loud that you love them; even if they never hear you.

I love you Kompy. We will see each other again.

Just don’t judge me for some of the dumb tattoos.

xoxo

Jake