I must be honest that it makes me laugh that so many of my friends believe that my last blog, “Joy Rising” was a casual introduction to let everyone know that I got a tattoo in Megan’s memory. It cracks me up to hear people say, “so what did you get?”
Let me systematically settle the questions in your mind. I do not have a tattoo. Even though I’m an artist, I’m also a Republican and own too many little black dresses with coordinating pearls.
Shocking as it may sound, my first weekend (fall 1979) at Tulane University in New Orleans, I did not venture to the French Quarter to slosh down a couple of hurricanes at Pat O’Briens and then drop by a midnight Bourbon Street shop to have barbed wire tattooed around my upper arm. In those years, I did not know one single woman with a tattoo, and the phenomena of having prison fencing inked around your upper arm did not surface for another 17 years when Pamela Anderson popularized the design in the 1996 movie “Barb Wire.”
At the third anniversary of my daughter’s death, I did not get a tattoo. Furthermore, if I was going to get a tattoo, there is just something creepy about getting my son Ryan’s sacred “M” with wings design plastered across my aging skin. As an artist, to grab Ryan’s memorial symbol and have it permanently inked on my body would be nothing short of stealing. It’s his design. It was his beloved sister. As an artist (and mother) I feel my only legal copyright permission extends to crafting stationery in her honor.
Joy Rising was a prelude to a trip to Liquid Courage, but not for the reasons that all of you think. Easter was on the horizon. Even with moments of joyful breakthrough, I find it impossible to approach Easter Sunday without remembering that Monday when we moved Megan to Josie Harper Hospice House. Or that Wednesday when I bathed her for the last time. Or Good Friday when my girl and I said our last words. My friend Cheri could see the unspoken pain on my face the week prior. I tried to hide it in the midst of Illustrator Class. Peeking over the huge Apple monitor, she asked me if she could do anything. Somehow it opened the door to what I needed…a friend to go with me to Liquid Courage.
You see, I wanted my daughter’s diamond stud, the one that ever glistened in the double pierce of her right ear, to be pierced in the top cartilage of my left ear. Left because Megan was left-handed. Left because cancer presented itself on her left adrenal gland. Left because in all those months (and years) that I sat at Megan’s bedside, my left ear was the closest to hearing her pour out her heart about life and death. And left because her last good-bye came through my left ear.
I called Liquid Courage in advance to see if I needed an appointment. My mom will be happy to know that I choose Jon, a professional trained by a witch doctor deep in the Amazon. Only the best, Mom! While I’m not lying about Jon’s tattoo and piercing
educational background, he is the best in Omaha, and he had me drop Megan’s earring off 45 minutes in advance to be sterilized in the autoclave.
With no fanfare, Jon came out in the quietness of a Tuesday afternoon. Though he made no inquiry into the depths of my soul, I told him I was getting my ear pierced in memory of my daughter. In the most sterile of environments (wearing surgical gloves) he thoughtfully marked the perfect spot before pulling out a giant-size needle. I told him I would cry, not because I was in pain…but just because. Taking a deep breath, the diamond was perfectly inserted, as big crocodile tears rushed down my face.
Maybe this personal moment is nobody’s business. But on this Mother’s Day I’ve not lost sight of the fact that as a mother sometimes the best gift you can give is your ear.
Key Notes:
- My son is also a lefty. So is my mom.
- Having my ear pierced was completely painless.
- If you and your son have matching tattoos, more power to you. While I personally choose not be inked, I know it is a highly personal decision and I respect how others creatively express themselves.
- If you are thinking of getting a pierce in the cartilage of your ear, go to a professional with a needle, and not a mall employee with a piercing gun. Piercing guns shatter the cartilage in your ear, and if infected can take months to heal.
On a Lighter Note:
- Left handed college graduates go on to become 26% richer than right-handed graduates.
- While working at Kitchen Toyland, I had several customers come in requesting “Hurricane” glasses. When I told them we did not have them for sale they would say, “I bet you don’t even know what those are.” My response was always, “I bet I do!”
- My friend Bailey instantly noticed my pierced ear. Her joyful reaction was, “I love it…and it doesn’t look trashy!”
