A tattoo doesn’t hurt. Yes, I said that out loud. To you.
A tattoo doesn’t hurt. It’s a constant pricking of the skin, filling it with ink and creating a permanent memory in your mind and on your skin.
A tattoo doesn’t hurt. It feels like a burning sensation, a constant annoyance right on the surface of you.
But, no, it does not hurt.
What hurts the most are those things that aren’t skin deep.
Disappointment. Heartache. Losing someone or something that means the world to you.
Watching a family member in pain.
Watching your own child suffer.
Being in the midst of a mental struggle.
Feeling like a ton of bricks is on your back while you hands are tied.
That’s what hurts. Hurt is when you have a hole in your heart.
So, I write these words on the day of my dear Grandfather’s death. Just hours after his spirit has left us and the shell that is his body is preparing to be laid to rest. After he lost his battle with cancer.
I write this only mere weeks after I decided to get my second tattoo; an inked word that now means more to me than it did when I had it placed on my skin.
The Arabic word for family. It’s forever part of me, just as my Grandpa will forever be part of my heart. While I may have thought a tattoo would hurt, this hurts much more. Deeper. Darker.
I do see the light. I see it in my children’s eyes, in my husband’s hugs and in the faces of my family members. I see it in my black tattoo. Family equals light.
My dearest Grandfather. I love you always and I will continue to make you proud. I hurt but I know that YOU don’t hurt anymore. The Lord will give my heart peace as he gave your body it’s eternal rest.