I've decided on the tattoos I'm going to get this summer.
On the left wrist will be the word timshel. It's hebrew, and I'll tell you more about that tomorrow, because I'm going to borrow the words of Robert Fulghum to help explain it's significance to me.
And this morning I decided what I want on my right wrist.
Roger used to say QED a lot, as a joke in our polictical discussions with our adorably paranoid friend Ryan. As I was taught, QED stand for the latin phrase "quod erat demonstrandum" which literally translates "that which was to be demonstrated." Our teacher said that in this context it meant "Thus it is proven."
I think about this phrase a lot when I think of Roger. 9 years later I find that despite the heartrending despair I felt at the loss of him, I am now more impacted my his life than his death. By his words than by the silence since.
He wrote me a letter in my yearbook a few months before he died. That yearbook has since been irretrievably lost, but it doesn't matter, I remember every word. Everything he wished for me in that letter, everything he saw for me has come to pass. With unerring accuracy he told me what I needed. He told me that life was short.
I clung to his words because they felt like promises.
And when beautiful things happen to me, I feel a sudden sense of familiarity, and I think back on his words with a new understanding.
He was right.
That which was to be demonstrated, now is proven. In me.
On the left wrist will be the word timshel. It's hebrew, and I'll tell you more about that tomorrow, because I'm going to borrow the words of Robert Fulghum to help explain it's significance to me.
And this morning I decided what I want on my right wrist.
Roger used to say QED a lot, as a joke in our polictical discussions with our adorably paranoid friend Ryan. As I was taught, QED stand for the latin phrase "quod erat demonstrandum" which literally translates "that which was to be demonstrated." Our teacher said that in this context it meant "Thus it is proven."
I think about this phrase a lot when I think of Roger. 9 years later I find that despite the heartrending despair I felt at the loss of him, I am now more impacted my his life than his death. By his words than by the silence since.
He wrote me a letter in my yearbook a few months before he died. That yearbook has since been irretrievably lost, but it doesn't matter, I remember every word. Everything he wished for me in that letter, everything he saw for me has come to pass. With unerring accuracy he told me what I needed. He told me that life was short.
I clung to his words because they felt like promises.
And when beautiful things happen to me, I feel a sudden sense of familiarity, and I think back on his words with a new understanding.
He was right.
That which was to be demonstrated, now is proven. In me.
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