“Do you like it, Nana?” she asked.
“I love it,” I told her, pulling her into my arms. “I’m going to keep it forever.”
“Forever forever?”
“Forever forever.”
She giggled and hugged me tighter.
That evening, after she went home, I kept looking at the picture.
Rob, my husband, was sitting nearby when I said, “You know what I’m thinking?”
He glanced toward me.
“I think I might get this tattooed on my arm.”
I expected him to laugh, ask whether I was serious, or at least look at the picture again.
Instead, he barely reacted.
I even showed him where I was thinking of putting it.
“Right here,” I explained, touching my arm. “Not huge. Just her drawing and the words.”
Rob gave me no indication that he had a problem with it, so I took his silence as indifference.
A few days later, I went to a tattoo studio.
I was nervous because I had never done anything like that before.
I must have checked the drawing 20 times while the artist prepared everything.
“This is your granddaughter’s drawing?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s sweet.”
“She made it just for me.”
Once the tattoo was finished, I stared at my arm and felt strangely emotional.
