While getting my late husband ready for his funeral, I noticed something I had never seen in all our years together — a set of coordinates tattooed just beneath his hairline. When I later entered those numbers into my GPS, they led me to a storage unit I had never known about.
I’m 67 years old, and I spent forty-two of those years married to Thomas. I truly believed I knew every detail about him — every scar, every freckle, every small habit of the man I loved.
The funeral home allowed me a private hour with him before the viewing. As I gently brushed his hair back the way I had done countless times throughout our life together, something caught my attention. His hair had been trimmed shorter than he had ever worn it.
That’s when I noticed it — just beneath the hairline above his right ear.
