The "Betsy Lou" Tattoo
My grandmother passed away in October 2015. She was full of fire and laughter, a special woman to say the least.
Growing up, I spent time with her at her home in rural Iowa, where my favorite thing wasn’t the games we played, but a stuffed fox tucked by the TV. Everyone else remembers it as ugly and worn. I thought he was perfect.
After she died, life moved on, as it always does. My birthday, a little over a week after her passing, felt heavy. My friends took me to a Halloween event at the zoo. I thought it was for kids, but I went anyway.
Unbeknownst to me, there was a fox enclosure at this zoo. One fox noticed me, crouched playfully, and smiled in that unmistakable way animals do. Instinctively, I crouched too, trying to mimic him. For a few moments, we played, darting back and forth like friends. When it came time to leave, I looked back. He was looking after me.
I don’t know if I believe in signs, but in that moment, I felt her with me.
Now, a tattoo of two foxes, lovingly nestled together, sits on my leg. It’s a quiet reminder that grief is just love waiting for somewhere to go.
Thank you for my “Betsy Lou” tattoo, John.