First some background. I've been incredibly fortunate in my life to have a few pretty significant friendships. One was a friend through middle school, high school and a few of my many college years. He was a confidante, a buddy and someone who could ALWAYS make me laugh. When he died, entirely too young, it was one of the first experiences I had with losing someone who had been important to me. Though we weren't super close at the time of his death, I didn't handle it very well. It wasn't a pretty time for me emotionally. There was definitely a whole bunch of relying on chemical crutches to get me through the pain. At his wake, I remember talking to a few mutual friends and deciding we would all get tattoos to remember him. Our friend's Irish heritage made the tattoo design easy to decide on.
I sat down in the chair and waited to see my new "ink." Half-way through the process I must have been looking a bit sallow because the artist asked me if I was feeling alright and offered a trash can if I was feeling sick to my stomach. First off, if there was one thing I used to be a pro at - it was the proverbial drunken yak. But, until that moment I hadn't felt sick to my stomach AT ALL. I was in a bit of pain, sure, but I was fine otherwise. Well, until that jerk mentioned the trash can. You get the idea. Thankfully it was a boot and rally kind of situation. I ended up surviving the process and walked out on my own two feet.
