When Fun Becomes Sad

So, I've been watching a lot of LA Ink lately.  Mostly because I put it on out of boredom but it has slowly become something I thoroughly enjoy watching.   I used to not be a huge fan of Kat Von D.  When she first appeared on Miami Ink ages ago, I somewhat liked her humbleness and talent and rough exterior but once she left and came back to Hollywood, I lost a lot of respect for her.  Why?  I have no good reason at all.  I guess mostly because she quickly befriended Jeffree Star and I hate everything that involves him.  I mean seriously, fuck that dude.  Anyway, over the course of watching her show, I now have nothing but respect for her – despite her choices in men, friends, or what have you.  She has the best understanding of what a tattoo can mean to someone and how important a tattoo artist truly can be to someone who needs someone to mark their body with milestones.  Not everyone gets that – especially people who don’t like tattoos or don’t want them.  But seeing her love for tattoos and those close to her has melted my heart.

It seems as if I can’t get through an entire episode without tearing up about something.  It never has to do with Kat or her life but it always has to do with someone getting a memorial tattoo of someone important that they have lost, whether it be recently or years and years later.  I don’t care whether it’s a cat, dog, bird, Mom, Dad, baby, Brother, Sister, friend, wife, boyfriend, husband, girlfriend – it doesn't matter, it makes me cry. 

There has always been something about the fragility of life that has haunted me and comforted me at the same time.  It’s so precarious.  The fact that at any time, anyone can be taken from you or you can be taken from them is just so devastatingly unfair, yet beautiful.  It’s this delicate dance between never taking anything for granted yet, being human - often finding yourself taking things for granted unknowingly.  It’s impossible to go about your daily life while constantly reminding yourself that one day, one minute, one second, it could all be over.  To think that way would be paralyzing.  At least speaking for myself – which is what I always only ever do. 

Getting off track.  The reason I’m writing this is because of something someone said on LA Ink last night.  It was this man, who I guess owns Cord magazine who came in to get an addition to an already existing tattoo he had done by Kat many years earlier.  Originally, he had just gotten a portrait of his mother on his forearm and now he wanted to add a wolf next to her – I guess she liked wolves, I don’t know.  That part doesn't matter.  What mattered to me is that he started talking about when his Mom had died, before he came in for the portrait years ago.  All he said was, “when my Mother died, there was no one to call”.  It was the most simple of sentences but it meant so much to me.  I related to him instantly and heavily. 

Now, I still have some family left and many amazing friends by my side but absolutely nothing that compares to my Mom.  No relationship will ever be able to replace it, in any form or version.  I have no grandparents left, a Father that I don’t care to associate with often, a Sister who has her own wonderful family and two Aunts that are supportive but distant.   Whenever something is wrong, I call my Mom.  Whenever I’m having a bad day, I call my Mom.  Whenever I need advice, I call my Mom.  Whenever I need help, I call my Mom.  Whenever I feel like I don’t want to take one more breath of air, I call my Mom.  If I had an amazing day, I call my Mom.  If something hilarious happened during my day, I call my Mom.  I call her every single day, even if I have no reason at all. 

I call my Mom.

I talk to everyone.  I talk to my friends, I talk to my boyfriend, I talk to my sister, I talk to my co-workers.  But those connections will never measure.  When I thought about the fact that when the time comes for my Mom to no longer be here with me, I will not call anyone.  There will be no one to call.  There will be no one that will be able to talk me down from that loss.  There will be no one who’s words could help.  There will be nothing left but emptiness.  A void that will never be filled. 

And that thought alone, frightens me to death.  It brings tears to my eyes, even now.  I owe my entire life to that woman and one day, my life won’t feel right without her.  Insurmountable loss. 

The only thing that makes it okay is knowing that while she was here, I told her everything.  I never left anything out.  I never stayed mad.  I never got angry or had resentment.  I never went a day without telling her I loved her. I never went a day without letting her know about my life – how I am, who I am.  I’ll know that she knew me best and that she knew that I cherished her.  And that those thoughts alone will get me through the pain. 

This is the woman who tried for 6 years to have a child, had 2 miscarriages, had to go through many fertility treatments to have me.  And I stuck.  In Vitro.  This is the woman who put up with my Father through all his bullshit and raised me on a single Mother salary, with no help.  This is the woman who taught me to love myself and what it is to be a good, kind, balanced person.  This is the woman who, without, I would not be.