Written by Andrew Ritchot

My wife was the most deep, loving, caring, and warm person I've ever known. My cremation tattoo is a partial recreation of a chest piece she had done to show the brain's deterioration on one side, and on the other, the positivity - heading into the breeze as birds and dandelions.

My wife and I knew the moment we met in person that we were each other's person. All it took was one swipe right, in April of 2014.  Danielle was diagnosed with Primary Progressive Multiple Sclerosis in 2018. A few months later, she told me she wanted to get married while she could still walk down the aisle, and so, we had a surprise wedding with the help of the band at the Pyramid Cabaret in front of shocked friends and family. 

When the pandemic kept us all at home, her body began to betray her more, but there was never a moment where our relationship waivered. Throughout her journey, Danielle didn’t let MS define her. No matter what symptom decided to rear its ugly head to her, she told it to f— off. She found a way to get through it and not let it overtake who she was as a person.  Her soul was fierce. Her heart was brave, and her mind was strong.

She was a warm, funny, deep, smart, analytical, amazing, beautiful human being. She made you feel like you were the most important person in any moment, and I was lucky enough to get that every day.
 
You might think of Danielle’s final years as tough, hard, unrelenting. But I don't. I saw someone who laughed every day. Got up every morning and found something to be happy about. Enjoyed routine. Fought through the pain, and led a happy life, even at its worst. Laughed hard, ate cake. Was persistent,  Stubborn (especially for hamburgers and cookies), and happy (after eating cake). Always smiling. Telling people she loved them, and to drive safe.

And now, as we become one with each other through the ink in this tattoo, I can't help but feel as connected to her now, as I ever have. I love you, babe. Forever and ever, and ever (hey, hey, hey).