The tattoo

I got a tattoo on Friday. I was scared to death, but I survived. It wasn't bad at all, actually.

Here's the story:

2 years ago in October, my maternal grandmother underwent open heart surgery. Soon after the surgery, she got more sick that anticipated. She was in the ICU on a ventilator for a month, as opposed to the typical 2 days. She was unconscious for most of that month, and every doctor, nurse, and family member thought we would lose her. I spent almost every night in the ICU waiting room, just wanting to be near if something happened. Looking for ways to encourage her, I put Finding Nemo window clings on the window in her hospital room to remind her to "just keep swimming". She has them hanging on her bathroom mirror at home now. After she was well enough to leave the ICU, we watched Finding Nemo on my laptop together.

If you can't tell, my granny and I are super close. Out of all the people in my family, I am most like her. She is the glue that holds my family together. Her quirky and sweet spirit holds a special place in my heart, and my life is so much better with her in it. Ever since she got sick, I never take a moment with her for granted. Not a phone call, not a note in the mail, not a hug, not a time when she calls me her "peach", not a call reminding me "it's only 12 days til your birthday!".

In getting this tattoo, I wanted to celebrate the moments that we've gotten to share together, and to have a piece of her with me always.  I'll never forget the twinkle in her eye and the smile on her face as we walked into the tattoo parlor with her wearing her infamous fanny pack and a bright orange top with neon purple sandles. The only thing better was adding the neon green bandage to the colorful attire. It was hilarious to see my grandparents in a tattoo parlor surrounded by grungy, tattooed and dreadlocked men playing Metallica on the radio. We got Nemo tattooed on our right legs, right above the ankle. It's one of my best memories, and we both love it.