It’s Time

Yesterday was my sister's birthday. She would have been 31.

Ever since my sister died, I keep going back to an especially fond memory I have of when she took me to get my first tattoo. I was 17 years old and she lied about my age for me to the guy who had done her tattoo—so he agreed to ink me with the same tattoo she had gotten, only smaller and blue instead of a red one like hers. They were these simple little flower tattoos, but they spoke volumes about who we were as sisters. Hers was larger and bright red. She was the older sister and had a “red” personality—vibrant, outgoing, passionate, troubled and loving. Mine was small and cobalt blue. I am obviously younger by three years and my personality has always been calmer, funnier but just as passionate. They were easy to get, and easy to forget. I’ve gotten other tattoos since then, and at one time I felt this little blue flower was superfluous and I even considered getting it removed once. Thank God all I did was consider it. This seemingly harmless, pointless little girl of a tattoo is one of the realest things I have with which to remember my big sister.

Her bold red tattoo now exists in the form of ashes that are housed in a box on my mom’s dresser. I want that tattoo back. I want to transfer her half of that memory to my body. Now, I’m ready… now, it’s time.

I'll post pictures of my progress and of course, of the finished product.

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"... Ain't nothin' left at all in the end of bein' proud with me riding in this car, and you flyin' through them clouds. I've had some time to think about it and watch the sun sink like a stone. I've had some time to think about you... on the long ride home."