Tattoos used to be seen as a mark of rebellion

Or something that only the wilder souls amongst us used to get done.

Not so much now.

Everyone seems to have one. (My daughters have got at least 14 between them)

I got this written on my arm when my mum was slipping over the cliff of dementia. When my youngest was leaving home. When I quit my job and left the security of regular employment.

It was a dizzyingly emotional time.

And I wanted to anchor myself.

Could have had a tattoo of an anchor I guess but I chose this line instead.

Because no matter the changes. The loss. The fear.

There had always been the hours spent with that person. There had always been the hours spent in that place.

And those hours were precious and they couldn’t be taken away from me.

But I needed to remember that in the midst of all the emotional churning.

And be grateful for them.

Because something has changed. Because something has gone. It doesn’t mean that everything is lost.

We had the hours.

We have those hours still with us. We carry them as we go forward.