“And I would really like to finish at least one thing I started today.”
Mom wiped her eyes.
Then she stretched out her left arm.
The little blue flower faced upward.
For the first time in thirty years, it wasn’t something she was trying to hide.
“All right,” she said.
“Let’s get this surgery over with before this hospital discovers another family secret.”
And as Patricia reached for her wrist, I looked at that tiny blue flower differently than I ever had before.
It wasn’t just a tattoo.
It was a piece of my mother’s past.
A doorway into mine.
And somehow, after thirty years of silence, it had finally brought both of us closer to the truth.
