This month our son should be turning 20. Its surreal , I have
said it before , to know you’re going to age and change , yet your loved one ,
a non malicious portrait of Dorian Grey on your wall. I should be getting ready
to drive to Washington, to pick Michael up from his med tech program, reserving
space for his birthday, and most likely checking out his new tattoo. With the anniversary
of losing mom 3 days before Christmas and your birthday the day after, kiddo
all I want to do is blow off bills and get a tattoo on your birthday. Shit we
all know I would tattoo every memory of you onto my soul if I could. You’re
already there but I think you would appreciate the artistic touch.
You liked hearing tattoo stories, especially that both dad and
I have many and that it makes grandma nut. My first tattoo cracked you up because
it came from an early love in my life, my first boyfriend. You loved that your
die hard lesbian mom had boyfriends and that she did care for them and in the
end, I had a boyfriend again. And that love was now your dad. You liked that I
understood having a cool first tattoo. Mine for me was a reminder, I kept so
many secrets from friends and loved ones as a teen. I thought the insanity I
never talked about or shared was mine to bear because I was somehow less than.
I kept those secrets in silence for years and paid dearly for it, so did others
when the shrapnel exploded. But that ink, it always reminded me that in that mess,
there was lovely lovely moments with some beautiful folk.
Since before you came home, you loved to talk tattoos. We knew
the day you turned 18, you were getting inked. So like any responsible parents
we wanted to make sure, that first ink did not suck. To be honest I loved
watching your process, an 800 dollar tattoo budget is the stuff of dreams. I
loved watching your brain work. You spent days going back to old sketchbooks,
looking at different stages of the drawing that became your first piece. Talking
to the tattoo artist, revamping your design. In the beginning your piece was a
bit darker, torn flesh and such. You went more for a mechanic version, clean
sharper. I asked you about the change and you told me, the cleaner lines made
you feel more like you, moving ahead, no scars. It was your art on you and for
you that piece made sense.
You thought I was weird, I know taking 3 million pictures of babies’
first tattoo. Look I did not get the first bath or kindergarten, I needed to
document my baby’s milestones that were as unique as our family. I just
recently learned in conversations with Lisa, that you really loved these. You
knew I was mom and that was great. I never knew until after you were gone and
it was shared with me that in those moments little Michael was getting his
needs of mommy met. I am honored that I was part of your journey to manhood and
that with love and safety you bloomed. But I am honored that my love touched
the little lost child in you too. I love my artist and that your first piece
was with dad and I, and a great story and memory for it.
My child had 2 other tattoos. His infinity spiral and his haunter.
We had the mortician take some up close pics of the spiral. It is the tattoo you
wanted all three of us to get, our family crest if you will; A sign of balance: representative of the bridge or the passage
between heaven and earth. Eternal spiritual love. Again given our life circumstance,
I think kiddo what did you somehow know without knowing. This year you wanted
dad and I to get it from you for Christmas and you get some more design around
yours from us, on your birthday. Just a simple family outing. Dad and I will be
getting this ink but I need to do it when I know I won’t weep through it. You
my child are my infinity, my bridge between heaven and earth, our purest love.
Your
last tattoo was in fact the last. I was your haunter. Before Pokémon go, my
child was an animae fan, big time. We spent many nights him trying to explain
the cartoons to me and me tormenting him by asking “is that a Pikachu? I see
that tattoo a lot now. Dad, got one. And in acts of love and remembrance your
friends have a mini army of haunter ink. Some pastel, some classic, some over
the heart, in your spot, on the leg. All bearing slight and bittersweet tweak
RIP MIKEY. You always worried, as the foster kid who never got to have friends,
in your new life would you? You were loved so much child that people put memories
of you on their body, you are a person they never want to lose.
I
get that. I have not gotten a tattoo in over 15 years. But then my son drew me
one, celebrating us as family. You again drew and re drew until the end result
showed what was in your heart, hearts, flowers and a simple “family is forever”.
Your art and your handwriting on me forever. On my skin like in my soul: bright,
vibrant, beautiful and with so much life.
We love
you kiddo, every day
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