Inked

In my last post I promised a story about tattoos and decided today was a good day to share! 

During Metisha’s battle, she decided to get “Believe” tattooed on the side of her left foot as a visible reminder to keeping believing for a miracle. 

 I remember she called me that evening and told me what she had done.  I wasn’t surprised, she had talked about getting a tattoo since she was in college but the parentals were always adamantly against it.  So when she told me, I was sworn to not tell Mom and Dad.  That still makes me laugh that even as adults I got the big sister “don’t you dare tell” threat!  Of course the next time we were together Mom saw the tattoo and was less than impressed.  But she did show restraint from lecturing her adult child!

Fast forward to this July.  I have never been a big fan of tattoos either.  No judgment, it was just a little too permanent for me and I always wondered how it would look to be an eighty year old grandma with “ink”.  But after Metisha died, I randomly had the thought that I wanted to get the same tattoo as a way to stay connected to her.  But I’m a type A, boring, responsible, analytical person so I decided I would think about it for a few months just to be sure it wasn’t the grief talking. 

That next weekend we were all together in Fort Worth and were heading to dinner.  Mark asked what we wanted to do after dinner and Mom said, “I was thinking about getting a tattoo!”  We all laughed and made fun of her, certain she wasn’t serious (she has a family reputation of making big statements with no action).  But she loudly and repeatedly declared she was serious because she wanted the same tattoo as Metisha as a way to stay connected to her.  What?!?  That statement caught my attention and when I revealed I had the same thought, Mom was even more decided.  So I said I would do it if she did, feeling  sure she would back out and we would have more time to think about it.  The men of the family at this point were still very skeptical and making fun of Mom.

So we had a nice dinner and ice cream and loaded back up in the car.  Mark asked Mom if we were going home and she said, “Nope, we’re going to the tattoo parlor!”  At this point it was 8:30 pm, and the whole family, including my one year old daughter whose bedtime as an hour earlier, headed to the tattoo parlor.  Yes, I had a baby, in a tattoo parlor!  I’m sure our suburban family looked completely normal at the tattoo parlor, right?  Mom and I told them what we wanted (getting very skeptical and annoyed looks) when we were suddenly thrown a curve ball (or I was thrown a life vest):  we needed our IDs which neither of us had.   So the whole family loaded back up in the family SUV, buckled the one year old in her car seat and headed home.  Good, Mom and I would have more time to make sure this is what we wanted to do before making a permanent decision! 

While I was putting my daughter to bed, my husband came in and said Mom was ready to go.  I asked, “Go where?”  His reply, “Back to the tattoo parlor!”  My thought, “You have got to be kidding me!  This is a bad idea!  She is going to regret this!”  But I could not be out-cooled by my mother, so at 10:30 pm on a Friday night, the men went to bed and Mom and I drove back to the tattoo parlor, this time with our IDs. 

To be sure I was not the only leaving with ink, I made Mom go first :)  She showed no pain and we joked about what Fairviewites would think of her with a tattoo.  After about 20 minutes (she swears it was longer) Mom’s was done and it was my turn.  She looked at me and said it hurts, a lot.  I laughed, sure she was just trying to scare me.  I sat down and he started to on the bottom part.  OUCH!  That did hurt, a lot.  But everyone says it goes numb so I figured no problem, a few minutes and it won’t be so bad.  WRONG!  The closer to the top of my foot he got, the MORE it hurt!   But I survived, and now we both have something we said we would NEVER have:

When we left the parlor, I told Mom when she dies I will not be honoring her with a tattoo because that hurt!  And I say that as someone who has given birth with a failed epidural and back labor!  But despite the pain, we laughed more in those short hours than we had in the last 6 weeks.  It felt good to laugh.  It felt healing to laugh.  And we feel connected.  I hope Metisha got look down on us and laugh with us!  Over a month later, I have no regrets and am glad Mom and I both had the thought to do something we swore we would never do!  And I'm glad to have a reminder to continue to believe, despite the heart breaks of this world.   

The next morning my Dad told me he decided that when Mom dies, he’s going to have her leg cut off and taken to a taxidermy and a lampshade put on top of it.  Then when my daughter asks if she can have a tattoo dad can tell her, “Look, Nanner got a tattoo and now she doesn’t have a leg to stand on!”.  I love my family and our sense of humor!  That statement still makes me laugh!

When we were done I said I would never do that again.  I should learn to never say never because I will be doing that again.  No, I’m not getting another tattoo, but I need some touch up work done on the bottom of my Believe.  And my Mom thinks that’s pretty funny …