After my brother died about a year ago, I knew I needed to do something to honor him. I have a necklace with his fingerprint on it, but I wanted something I could never take off. My sister and I decided getting a tattoo would be the best way to honor his memory.
The thought of waiting until I was eighteen never crossed my mind. I wanted the tattoo as soon as possible, but I also wanted to spend a lot of time thinking about what I wanted. After all, it would be on my body for the rest of my life.
Finally, my dad decided we were ready. He and my mom researched different tattoo places to find the most reputable. My sister and I were excited, but terrified, too.
The morning of March 17, I woke up with a knot in my stomach. I had watched several tattoo shows on TV, but I hadn’t been in a tattoo shop before.
Ower was my tattoo artist. He drew a sketch that looked exactly like the picture I emailed him. I sat in a stiff, black chair as he dug sharp needles into my flesh. It felt like he was dragging a knife through my skin. He played music that I knew, so I tried distracting myself from the pain by singing. Somehow, I managed not to cry.
It also helped if I thought about why I was getting the tattoo; it was calming. Having my sister with me made the whole experience much easier. It reinforced my motives and made me feel more comfortable. The entire thing lasted a little over an hour.
I wanted to get a lily because during my brother’s memorial, my dad referenced a powerful scripture:
“Luke 12:27: Look at the lilies and how they grow. They don’t work or make their clothing, yet Solomon in all his glory was not dressed as beautifully as they are.”
I decided that a lily would be the best way to represent my brother. After about an hour of pain and countless hours of looking at different pictures of lilies, I love my tattoo. I’m really glad I have it, because now I always have him with me.
I love you, Trevor.
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