No memory she wanted to share.
Just those same few words.
Eventually, I stopped asking.
As I got older, the tattoo became such a normal part of Mom that I hardly noticed it.
Until last month.
Mom — Eleanor — was scheduled for a routine knee replacement, so I took the day off work and went to the hospital with her.
Nothing about that morning seemed unusual.
We checked in. Completed the paperwork. Answered the usual medical questions.
Mom was nervous about the procedure, but that was understandable.
Then a nurse came in to prepare Mom’s IV.
She chatted casually while arranging the supplies.
Then she gently pushed up Mom’s sleeve.
And saw the flower.
Her entire demeanor changed.
Her hand stopped moving.
For several seconds, she simply stared at Mom’s wrist.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
The nurse didn’t answer right away.
Instead, she carefully pulled Mom’s sleeve back down over the tattoo.
