Why I got a Memorial Tattoo after my Husband Died

Seriously… A Tattoo?

I get it… I may have thought that too.

This is my story of a Widow’s Story of Love, Loss, and New Beginnings

Let me start by saying this upfront—I know tattoos aren’t everyone’s cup of tea. And that’s okay.

But this one? This one is different.

This tattoo holds the handwriting of my late husband, taken from a love letter he wrote me during our marriage. It’s not just ink on skin. It’s a permanent reminder of love, loss, and the courage it takes to start again. It’s a piece of him that I will carry with me for the rest of my life—etched on my body and burned into my soul.

And no, it’s not like a ring that I can wear—or take off—depending on the day. This tattoo is constant. It’s a memorial. A symbol. A promise. A healing.

When You’re a Widow, Every Decision Feels Like a Statement

I never realized how hard this decision would be—or how vocal people can be about something so personal. The opinions came pouring in the moment I shared my tattoo online. Some were supportive. Others were, well… not.

But here’s the truth: I don’t owe anyone an explanation. Still, I want to share. Because this isn’t just about a tattoo—it’s about grief, God winks, healing, and the journey of rediscovering who I am after my world was turned upside down.

For anyone walking through grief, especially as a widow, I hope my story helps you feel seen. You are not alone. I have a few resources I have gathered for me in hopes they might also help you in your journey too. I have them HERE If you want to check them out.

The Day Everything Changed

April 9, 2024.

The day I lost my husband, Quintin, was the day the old me died, too. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: the Lori that existed before that day is gone. What remains is someone trying her best to rise in the ashes of a life she never expected to be living.

Quintin wasn’t just my husband. He was my best friend, my safe place, the father of my children—my everything. We were married nearly 25 years. A lifetime of love. A legacy of laughter, struggle, teamwork, and deep connection.

And now? I’m navigating a world I never wanted to live in—one without him by my side.

The Identity Crisis of Widowhood

Being a widow doesn’t come with a guidebook. It doesn’t come with rules, and yet, everyone seems to have an opinion. Should you take off your wedding ring? Or should you wear it… You take vows “til death do us part” what does that mean exactly? Should you start dating again? Should you get a tattoo? How best should you honor his memory and legacy.

The truth is—every widow grieves differently. There is no “right” way to mourn. What matters is what feels true to you.

For 25 years, my identity was “Quintin’s wife.” When that was ripped away, I was forced to figure out who Lori is without that title. It’s disorienting. It’s lonely. It’s scary.

And it’s also what led me to this tattoo.

Why I Got the Tattoo

The idea didn’t come out of nowhere. It came slowly, after time spent crying, praying, and processing. I attended a widows retreat through Never Alone Widows, and it was there, among a group of women who truly got it, that things began to shift.

This wasn’t a pity party. This was a lifeline. There were only 19 of us—young widows under 50, all raising children in the middle of grief. For the first time, I didn’t feel like the odd one out. I felt understood.

And it was on a walk during that retreat, among the peace and beauty of Pursell Farms, that I noticed a flower.

One single, perfect bloom. Radiant. Unique. Alive.

Something about it struck me, so I snapped a picture. Days later, I finally looked it up. And what do you know—it was a narcissus.

Also known as a birth flower for December.

Quintin’s birth flower.

Cue the goosebumps. God wink? I believe so.

The tears just flowed….

The Power of Symbols in Grief

The narcissus represents new beginnings, rebirth, and life.

That moment was confirmation: this flower belonged in my story. A symbol of grief and hope. A visual representation of a life that ended, but a journey that continues.

So my tattoo became both: Quintin’s handwriting, pulled from a love letter he left me—and his birth flower, found in a quiet garden, on a retreat meant for healing.

Together, they mark the pain of what I’ve lost and the hope I’m still learning to hold.

Yes, I’ve Read the Comments

“Why would she do that to her body?”

“Doesn’t she plan to get remarried?”

Let me be loud and clear: I didn’t get this tattoo thinking about future relationships. In fact, the idea of dating again feels light-years away.

I am still in love with my husband. I am still raising our kids. I am still grieving. Quintin will always be the love of my life.

But here’s the beautiful part: before he died, he told me something I’ll never forget. He said, “Don’t do life alone, Lori.” He wanted me to be happy—even if it meant finding love again. In fact, in his own written words he encouraged me to be free to love again.

And maybe one day, I will. If that time comes, I trust that whoever God sends will understand and respect this part of my journey. If not? He’s not the one.

If God called me into widowhood to remain single for the rest of my days, I am ok with that too. I know wherever He calls He will be there to carry me and guide me.

A Family Legacy

I wasn’t the only one who wanted to honor Q.

Our daughter, Ella, decided to get her maiden name tattooed—in her dad’s handwriting. That was something she needed to do, to feel close to him, to carry his legacy wherever she goes.

I’ll never forget the night Q died. At 2 a.m., the first thing out of Ella’s mouth when her brother walked in the door from college was:
“Who’s going to walk me down the aisle?”

Heart-shattering.

We’ve all found different ways to grieve. To remember. To hold him close. This was hers below. Mine was the flower and the letter.

Ella's is shown here.

Honoring the Past, Stepping Into the New

Grief is complicated. It’s not a straight line. Some days you feel okay. Some days you can barely breathe.

But I’m learning that you can grieve deeply while still growing forward.

This tattoo is not a sign of weakness—it’s a sign of strength. It reminds me daily that even when the path ahead feels murky, God is still guiding my steps. That even in loss, there is love. Even in sorrow, there is hope.

Will I make mistakes? Yes. Will I stumble through this new life? Absolutely. But I trust that God is doing a new thing in me—and this tattoo is part of that unfolding story.

What I Want Other Widows to Know

If you’ve lost your spouse, and you’re navigating the impossible—please hear me: you are NOT ALONE.

Whether you choose to wear your ring forever or take it off, get a tattoo or never even consider it… your grief is valid. Your love was real. And your healing will be personal.

Lean into the memories. Cherish the symbols. Find your people. Most of all—give yourself grace.

Recommended Resources for Grieving Widows:
    •    Never Alone Widows (Retreats, support groups, and resources for Christian widows)
    •    GriefShare (Biblically based support groups in communities nationwide)
    •    I am still building resources for me and I will be happy to share them here on my blog, so if you are in need please make sure to ear mark my Crazy Busy Mama blog and check back often for updates. These resources have been so helpful for me on my journey and my hope is they will be for you too!

Final Thoughts: A New Beginning, Still Holding Love

So, yes. I got a tattoo.

Not because I stopped loving my husband—but because I will always love him. Because I carry his memory with me every single day. Because I needed something visual—something permanent—that says, “You mattered. You still do.”

This grief journey is far from over. But I’m learning to step forward—even if it’s one shaky step at a time. And when I look at this tattoo, I’m reminded of the man who loved me well… and the God who still walks with me.

Here is the story in video format for those who would like to watch.

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