Then, this happened.

So I went to a tattoo party and went to just get my son’s name on my shoulder. Which I did get. But then impulse and the universe stepped in as this phrase kept playing in my mind. “Alis Volat Propriis” 3 weeks ago I had posted it on my Instagram as a reminder that this was my journey and it may not be perfect but it was mine. I even wrote it on my arm to keep me motivated that day. Then the next day my Grams had the stroke that would take her life. The thing about that is, this phrase in translation means “She flies with her own wings.” And that was that, but where would I put it? On my arm? Nah, why go there. Seeing it everyday would be nice, but it would be a daily painful reminder of what it meant to me. No, I did not need to see it, just know it was there. So I went someplace nobody would ever see, my ribs. A place I had always wanted to tattoo if I ever got thin enough.  So I laid down, closed my eyes and waited for the soothing sound that takes me to another level of calm. Tattooing for me is a religious experience. It is a connection to my body, to my mind, to the feelings, the meaning of what I am doing. And this one, was no different. When it was finished I cried, not only because I could finally move my arm. But because I felt healed. The weight of losing my Grams was less, because I had not lost her at all. She was right there soaring with her own wings.