Like I said in a previous post, my son’s friend is a tattoo artist. My son planned to get his tattoo when he was home in April. But a couple fellow Marine friends pushed that time window up. They took him to a tattoo parlor and paid for his tattoo. It was an effort to cheer my son up. We’ve both been depressed while trying to arrange the UCLA hospital stay and child care. My son hates not being here to help directly, and I truly wish he were here to help – but his career is more important to me. So, his buddies dragged him out and they had a tattoo party at one of the parlors. He just sent me a picture of it. It’s a small 1-1/2 inch rose with stem and leaves. I have an “almost” matching one. I say “almost” matching because his has MOM inscribed through the center of it. I will be having his initials inscribed directly under mine, when he arrives here, thanks to his tattoo artist friend who lives here. I may even talk him into a Survive Tattoo on my wrist. It will be a purple ribbon with the word “Survive” inscribed across the center.
My Rose Tattoo was my little secret. It signified my decision to finally leave an abuser and blossom on my own. The Rose was my incentive that I would leave one day, and it was my secret. That’s why I chose a Rose. The rose and its connotation of secrecy started way back in Ancient Egypt and Greek Mythology. In ancient
The Rose Tattoos will still be my and my son’s little secret (or not so secret), a joining of our souls and hearts that cannot be taken away even by death. I love the idea of having matching tattoos in the same place with my son. It shines a little light for me in this bleakness. I like being joined to my baby with such a thoughtful mark.
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