I have had this theory in my work with youth that tattoos are a way of dealing with emotional pain. When Zane passed, I had a tattoo of his writing inked onto my inner forearm. I have had a new tattoo every year since. I have friends who had never considered a tattoo until their child passed. My daughter told me that your body is your canvas, it should tell your story. My canvas speaks of motherhood, life and happy times.

The tattoo of my third year living with grief was a line drawing of Zane, Payton and myself, from a photo of the three of us sitting in Mameo watching the sunset. I wanted this tattoo because it reminded me of the beautiful, peaceful summers my mother introduced us to. Quiet times of sunny days playing in the water or digging holes in the sand. Conversations of dreams and possibilities, where art, writing and photography filled the day. After mom passed, my sister and I continued going, taking the kids until they became old enough that interest was scattered and we stopped. My tattoo was my honoring those times. But something was amiss.

Since the original tattoo, I have asked for modifications and have never been satisfied with it. Then a friend suggested asking AI what I should do.  I laughed but thought I had nothing to lose. AI suggested adding flowers. I then went on a search to find a tattoo artist whose expertise was of such and found Sabrina.

Sabrina suggested adding flowers and adding other components of the original photo and redoing the figures in black.  Redoing???  It would take about two hours.  Two hours??? She saw the look on my face. “We could do it in two sessions.” I booked with that idea, paid my deposit and prayed that night that this was the answer to my woes of this unfinished tattoo.

When I arrived on the day of my appointment, I had yet to see her vision of what she wanted to do.  I was very nervous. Her sketch had the cloud lines added, more depth to the characters, a tiny sun and flowers, roses for Zane, sunflowers for Payton, and a peony for mom.  

The tattoo did take two hours, and we finished it in one sitting. My arm is red, sore, puffy and bruised.  It will take a couple weeks to heal. I am comfortable with all of that because it is the tattoo I wanted. I will now have a snapshot of one of my most favorite summers as a mother inked to forever remind me of that very special era.

I am living proof of my theory related to ‘inking’ when in pain, it’s not just for youth. I think that is why when we are grieving, the pain of the needle is bearable. It does not compare to the pain our heart feels. It is a distracting numbness that when completed shows a picture or a quote of love, of remembrance or a message of hope. It is a way of sharing our stories. My daughter was right; my body is becoming a canvas of my life history that reveals moments of my journey that I choose to hold tight to.