I have two tattoos. Currently.

The First Tattoo – Vocare ad Regnum

The first, a cross with the words “Mama” and “Vocare ad Regnum” emblazoned on a tattered ribbon, I got when I was in my late 20’s. Having grown up in a religious family, my parents had been against tattoos, male ear piercings, and other body alterations.

(A quick aside – my parents were strict about some things, but my father always allowed me to listen to whatever music I wanted. His reasoning was that if they were too strict, I would go to college and lose my mind. He was right.)

My mother died unexpectedly in the Fall of 2006. I was at my then-girlfriend’s place, watching TV (I swear) when my Dad called. He told me to hurry home, as something was wrong with my mother. The worry in his voice told me that it was serious, that it wasn’t a case of, say, indigestion.

The rest of the night was a blur, but I still remember everything. The red lights that were run. The prayer that no cop saw me. The second phone call that told me to go to the hospital. Meeting my Dad at the emergency room, and only having to wait a short time before the doctor came out to tell us that my mother, my father’s wife, beloved sister, aunt, and daughter, was gone. The anguished wail from my father. Going into the hospital room to say goodbye.

My mother, due to a childhood filled with poverty and resulting poor dental care, had few original teeth. Instead, she wore partial dentures. The doctors, in their haste to save her life, moved her partials around in her mouth. And in their grim acceptance, did not take the time to put them back. I don’t blame them. I do forgive them.

Even though the life was gone from my mother’s body, I still made her a solemn promise: that I would get a tattoo to memorialize her. And I did.

The Second Tattoo – Memento Vivere

My second tattoo I had done after my diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis. Tattoo therapy, I called it, a way to cope with the metaphorical bus that had just hit me. I walked into a tattoo shop with an idea: A Spartan helmet, behind a shield, with a spear that was draped with the orange ribbon signifying the fight against MS.

The experience was adequate. I still have the tattoo, so that has to account for something, I suppose.

I had meant for the tattoo to have words as well. For a while, I struggled to find the right words. The struggle lasted for months.

In more ways than one.

In short, I struggled. I struggled with depression, the unyielding feeling of brokenness that comes with a life-altering diagnosis. I struggled with anxiety, fearing that I would wake up one day and my body would no longer work, and I would no longer by able to provide for my family. How would people look at me? Would they pity me?

During this time, I found Stoicism. I read about Marcus Aurelius, his philosophy. I listened to Ryan Holiday’s “Daily Stoic” podcast. I found…a bit of peace. I also found Memento Mori. Translated, it means “Remember that you will die”. Some see it as a rallying cry to treat each day as if it was the last, that remembering your own mortality will cause you live your life well.

Mortality? Eh, a bit dark for me.

In the end, and with a different tattoo artist, I decided on Memento Vivere, the flipside to memento mori. Memento Vivere means “Remember to Live”. To me, it means that no matter what happens, remember that I have to live. To provide. To enjoy. To allow myself to look forward to something. To not let MS ruin my life, even as it changes it.

What’s Next?

I don’t know what my next tattoo will be. Perhaps something that memorializes my father, whom I love dearly. Or my grandmother.

I do know this: After the flesh is rent by the tattooist’s needle, a wound is created. This wound must be cared for otherwise the artwork can be infected, the work ruined. After the proper care, the wound begins to heal. First painfully, then irritatingly, (so itchy), then the skin “exhales” as you provide more oxygen to it. The skin holds the ink, and incorporates it into itself. The skin is then forever changed – into something more beautiful than it was to begin with.

Life does the same. It tests us. Then tears at us, leaving wounds that feel like they will never heal. But with proper care, they do. First painfully, then irritatingly, then…exhale. And while it doesn’t feel like it, life leaves you forever changed – into something more beautiful.