My seemingly healthy, physically active cousin of 35 passed away recently.
When he was in higschool and all throughout his childhood his number in every sport he played was 25. His Pass code for all of his accounts was 25–25….25 was his favorite number.
He passed away on the 25th of May.
His wife picked out a burial plot she deemed he would like, and asked the person showing her around the cemetary how she could let the people who do the paper work know what plot she’d pick. The gentleman said: theyre numbered. The plot you picked is 25–25.
Since he had moved out of my home state with his wife the burial plot was picked in their town, and so we had a ceremony both here- and there. After the wake there, we went to get food. We were all seated and some people went to the bar. The bartender turned around to grab something and you heard a few people say HOLYSHIT. She had two tattoos on her triceps, one on the left one on the right…..The tattoos were 25, 25.
Those are just a few with that whole ordeal. still mind blowing to me. ,,
On a totally different topic something else that lifted off my chair was finidng out my best friend had her car keys stolen from the gym almost right in front of her eyes…