Inked

I’ve been known to be opinionated, sometimes even obstinate – I have set myself up to eat words on more than one occasion. And I’ve just done it again.

I recall loosing my mind the day our (then sixteen year old) daughter came home with a tattoo.  A lot of time has passed since that evening but neither she nor I have totally forgotten my performance. She seemed braced for my fury, my opinion of body art had never been a secret – I’d bestowed a lot of colorful judgement on her friends when they started showing up after school sporting new ink.  If I’d been honest I’d have admitted it was just a matter of time before we would be coping with the fad in our own house.

In hindsight I wasted a lot of energy being furious, the deed had been done, you can’t yell away a tattoo.   It may have been more prudent to cry quietly into my pillow that night, to suffer in silence. The words I’m eating today would be a lot easier to swallow were it not for the war dance I did in the kitchen those many years ago.  

This Gramma got inked – yup, I’m now sporting a tattoo.  I’m sixty-five years old – I can’t pretend to have succumbed to peer pressure.  Hell, the tattoo trend has been setting for so long I can’t even claim to be late to the party.  This wasn’t an err in judgement or a spur of the moment decision, it was a well thought out, totally scheduled venture into indelible marker-ing.

It’s too late for second thoughts, although I’ve had them.  I’m pleased with the art, I love the sentiment behind the design and the camaraderie I have with the people who are sporting the same ink.  I just can’t believe I did it, that we did it.

The idea behind the tattoo has been brewing for months; my daughters and I felt the need to do something to acknowledge our survival and determination while not forgetting the magnitude of what we have survived. The design was a collaboration between the girls and the tattoo artist and they nailed it.  

The mountain is a nod to timelessness and strength. Mt. Baker is significant; it floats on the horizon from every vista where we live.  We spread his ashes into the memories we made on that mountain.  He rests in the heather beneath the snow, his essence glows in every sunset and welcomes every morning. “Onward” is the direction we must go, even without him. The tattoo is a visible manifestation of that which we quietly hold in our hearts, a reminder.

I knew I would have to eat some crow as I sat there getting inked, I knew the opinionated me would be questioned – I did it anyway.  At first I thought I was being  brave, then my confidence faded and I felt foolish – now I feel connected; to the art, the sentiment and the significance. Gramma got inked and she’s not one bit sorry.