The song says “Scars are tattoos with better stories”. I disagree.
The first scar I remember getting is a small checkmark on the back of my ankle.
It looks like someone was giving it their approval. That is not at all what it
is, it is a scar, one with a slightly embarrassing story behind it.
I was working in Lawn and Garden one summer and it happened the
first time I helped unload the truck. There was very little training, there
were seven people pushing and pulling flower carts having a good time. They all
learned an important lesson that day, ‘Never pull a flower cart’. I was doing
just that when the wheel hit a crack in the parking lot. The cart picked up
speed and knocked me to the ground. The embarrassed laughter started first, it
was bad enough to trip, but to trip in front of management, horrifying. The
supervisor helped me to my feet and went in to start the accident paperwork. It
took me a bit longer to realize I was hurt, well more than my pride. I didn’t
know that I was hurt until I felt blood seeping into my sock. Then I had to
limp across the parking lot and into the office to get bandaged up.
The song says “Scars are tattoos with better stories”. But, not
all scars are visible. Many of them are internal, no one can see the scars left
on your soul, the many turbulent situations that you have worked through. A
tattoo is a visual reminder of your strength. It can give you the boost you
need to carry on. It can be a reminder of a special person, animal or time in
your life. As a tattoo artist, Jenna had heard all of the stories. She had
laughed and cried along with her clients while listening to their stories and
trying to help them find the perfect image to express themselves.
There is a lot more to her job than meets the eye. You have to
have artistic ability. You need to be able to ask the right questions to get
the best image. You have to be able to read people and know that this really is
something they want permanently on their bodies. Jenna had developed a sort of
sixth sense about human-kind over the years. She knew who was the “Let’s do
this now” type, and she knew who was the “I need to think it over a bit more”
type. When Ivory came into the shop Jenna knew that this was going to be a
difficult one. This was going to be a heart wrenching story of loss. The look
on the woman’s face was a mixture of determination and sadness.
“Good morning” Jenna tried to put on a happy face. “What can I do
for you today?”
“I want to get a tattoo, in remembrance of my daughter.” Ivory
said the words like she had practiced them over and over again until she could
say them without breaking down in tears.
“Okay, do you have an idea in mind? Or, do you want to tell me a
bit about her and work out something together?”
“I have never done this before, and I am not sure what I want
exactly. Can you give me some ideas about what other people have done?” Jenna
could tell that the young woman was close to tears, so, she did something she
only did occasionally. She walked to the door and flipped the closed sign and
locked it. She led the shaking woman to the couch in the waiting room and sat
with her.
“Tell me about your daughter.” It was said with kindness and genuine
interest.
Ivory began the story, “I have always wanted to have children, I
was born to be a mom. When I couldn’t find the right guy, I decided to go it
alone. I had invitro-inseminaiton. I was so excited when I took the at home
test and it was positive. I took four more just to be sure. After a doctor
confirmed it, I went on a shopping spree. I bought every gender neutral baby
item I could find. I wanted to have time to get the nursery set up perfectly
before my baby came. I was giddy before each doctor’s appointment. When I heard
her heartbeat for the first time, I felt like my life was finally complete. I
spent hours just listening to the recoding of my baby’s heartbeat at night. I
felt such peace.’
“Everything was great, until my twenty week appointment. That
morning I dressed hurridly, I didn’t even put on make up. I was the first
appointment of the day and I wanted to be there early. I couldn’t wait to see
my baby for the first time.’
“The doctor got quiet when he found the baby, and my heart sank. ‘What
is it? What’s wrong?’ He told me that they needed to do some tests. I went from
serene to panicked in a matter of minutes. After a myriad of tests the doctor
said the words that all parents dread. ‘There is something wrong with your
child. She has
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