The Tattoo on my Heart

Tattoos.  They are so incredibly permanent; perhaps the most permanent mark you can make on your body.  Earring holes can close up, most scars and even stretch marks will eventually fade and lighten to the point that sometimes the person baring them is the only one that can see them. But a tattoo?  Those are pretty much there for life.  When I was a kid my mom used to say, “Just think of what it will look like when you are old and saggy!” and then tell us about her days of working in the nursing home and seeing tattoos on the elderly patients.  I always wanted one, but I refused to get one when I was younger out of fear that I would choose anything that would lead to regret when I reached the age where real common sense inevitably set in. 

So I patiently waited, contemplated what I would get and where I would have it placed, and finally, at 23, settling on a small pink heart the size of a quarter on the inside of my wrist with my brothers and sister’s initials on it.  I loved it.  My parents weren’t thrilled but didn’t hate it either. That was it for me, I’d said, one and done.  And it was; for five years anyway.  Then I decided I wanted one for Kennedy, and any subsequent children we’d have really.  I’d had two years with her and knew very well that there was no love greater than in this life than a mother’s for her child.  Again, I thought long and hard about where I should get it (after all this body was not that of a 23 year old any more-it was a mom body in all its’ glory, even if I’d busted my ass getting it to what I viewed as good enough again) and I settled on my side, on my rib cage.  Again, I loved it and I believed in it and what it said with all of heart.

The day after I lost Jack, changing in the hospital bathroom after my shower, I couldn’t help but stare at my war-torn body in the mirror and I caught a glimpse of it; and I could barely stand to look at it.  Though I still believed in what it said, being that a huge piece of my heart went with him that day, and quite literally proved that nothing, not even death, could ever pull a mother from their child, it broke my heart that it no longer felt like my tattoo could represent Kennedy and Jack at the same time. 

As the days and weeks dragged on, tattoos were the last things on my mind.  However, as I trolled Pinterest, looking for anything that could bring me some comfort, I would occasionally find tattoos other women had gotten to pay tribute to their babies that had gone before them.  They were sweet, and sad, and I hope could bring comfort to the women that wore them, but none of them were for me.  None of them could clearly represent my boy and what I was experiencing.

In order for anyone to understand why I ultimately walked out of the coolest little tattoo parlor to ever exist, owned by the most wonderful tattoo artist for this job, with what I think is the most perfect expression of my love and experience of Jack Holden Doyle, I have to explain something first.

I found that on Pinterest during one of my sleepless nights in the very early days of our loss.  I had also read about this in a book a few months earlier, never dreaming that it could ever resonate with me so deeply.  There is debate as to whether animals grieve like humans do or not, however, with elephants there seems to be a more clear answer.  "When a mother elephant loses her baby, the other females elephants in the herd stand around her and allow her to grieve and mourn.  They don’t hurry her along, or push her to abandon the body.  They gently touch her with their trunks, a silent show of unwavering support.”  Elephants are known for their memories and they say that a mother elephant will return to the spot where her baby died for years and years, showing that though she is an animal, she could never forget her love and what she’s lost no matter how many years go by.  And so, my connection with this amazingingly human creature was formed.  I refer to Jack as my little elephant in the room, as he is present for me in a way I can’t possibly explain well enough.

And so, as a gift given to me on my due date for Jack months ago by two of my closest girlfriends, I went to have a mark made for my baby boy.  I was joined by two of my girls that have literally held my hand along this rocky road and the most perfect mommy-baby elephant duo was drawn on my arm.  The experience was emotional and painful (and not just because a needle was being dragged across my skin).

The truth is though that I didn’t really need a tattoo to pay tribute to Jack.  His short, beautiful little life was tattooed on my broken heart and soul the moment he left us and that love is more permanent than any ink.  

A very special thanks to Jessica at Ms. Dixie's Tattoo in Troy, NY

http://instagram.com/msdixiestattoo

Photo credit from this post go to: Jessalyn Brodie