Why I Let My Teenager Get a Tattoo

A Gift for Mom! 🤍

I let my 15-year-old daughter get a tattoo, and no, I don’t care what anybody has to say about it.

Documenting important events in the form of a tattoo is nothing new, in fact, some cultures still view it as an actual rite of passage. Warriors did it to commemorate their battles and to honor those who have fallen.

I think the problem nowadays is anybody can walk into a tattoo parlor anywhere and get whatever fancies them at the time, which is great until the meaning behind it loses its meaning. I’m pretty sure most teenagers, and some adults, who are tattooing what’s cool to them now won’t love it forever and will eventually look at it with regret, so when my teenager asked me for one, trust me, I thought about it. And thought about it. And thought about it.

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What was her reason? What did she want? Was she trying to impress her friends? Was she just following some trend?

We talked about it, and she told me she wanted to get a very small, very appropriate tattoo to honor her dad who passed away from cancer when she was 13. Even with that reasoning, I still struggled with it.

We talked about the tattoo her older sister, Savanna, got a couple of years ago. “I IV IX” placed delicately on the top of her foot. For those of you who aren’t up on your Roman numerals, that’s 1-4-9, which was my husband’s police badge number.

I couldn’t think of a more beautiful tribute. In fact, it still takes my breath away.

I started thinking about the meaning, and it was so much deeper than just numbers. You see, after his valiant fight with his disease, his badge number has become synonymous with strength, courage, and hope. That’s what it means to me, and clearly what it means to my kids.

The night Chad passed, I told Kaitlyn she didn’t have to go back into the room to watch him die. I told her I would stay in the hall with her. I explained what was happening, that he couldn’t breathe, that there was a gurgling in his throat and it sounded like he needed to clear it but couldn’t. I told her he would not wake up. I told her that he was going to stop breathing. And she didn’t have to watch that.

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She said nothing as she blew past me and straight to his bedside to hold his hand. She told the nurse she was going to throw up. Her body shook. Tears fell from her eyes. Her dad gasped.

She sat straight up, wiped her face, swallowed hard, squeezed his hand, and told him he could go. She told him it was OK.

She stayed with him while he died and didn’t leave him for an hour after. She held his hand while he took his last breath, much in the same way he held hers when she took her first.

At that moment, I knew she was her father’s daughter. She was a beautiful example of the fighter he was.

After that night, she took a break from some things but returned to competitive gymnastics after a month and won the state championship for her age and level that year. She moved houses, made new friends, had plenty of girl drama, changed schools, and all the while got involved with pancreatic cancer awareness and research.

In the midst of all the change in her own life, she managed to continue to honor her dad.

And in my mind, that makes her a true warrior.

The things she has endured and the way she has survived is the true mark of all the things Chad was—strong, courageous, and full of hope.

So, when Kaitlyn and her sister decided to get a tattoo to respect the battle and to honor their hero that fell, there was no way I was standing in the way of that. Not for one second.

RELATED: For As Long As We Love, We Grieve

As for me, the day before he died, I asked for a copy of his EKG. I have his real heartbeat tattooed on my foot so every time I look down, I know he’s with me. It’s part of him that is still alive.

One of my favorite things was laying on his chest listening to his heartbeat, and now I can still see it anytime I want. And my kids can look at theirs and be reminded they can survive anything.

So yes, I let my 15-year-old get a tattoo and no, I don’t care what anybody has to say about it because they have shown me, you, and anybody else who will listen what surviving looks like. They get to show that off however they want to. They’ve earned it.

Previously published on Love What Matters

So God Made a Grandmother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

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Diana Register

Diana Register is an international best selling author with titles that include, "Grief Life", "My Kid Is An Asshole and So Is My Dog", "The Pawn", "Saving Grace", "The Rainbow Assassin" and "Electric Man" - a book based on real-life events from her life after losing her husband to cancer. When she's not writing books or spending time with the people she loves, she enjoys long walks to the martini bar, sleeping, avoiding laundry and chocolate chip cookies.

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Why I Let My Teenager Get a Tattoo

RELATED: Why I Let My Teens Drink Coffee

I couldn’t think of a more beautiful tribute. In fact, it still takes my breath away.

RELATED: Watching A Parent Battle Cancer Is Hell On Earth Torture

She sat straight up, wiped her face, swallowed hard, squeezed his hand, and told him he could go. She told him it was OK.

And in my mind, that makes her a true warrior.

RELATED: For As Long As We Love, We Grieve

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Diana Register

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Repotting Myself: What My One‑Armed Grandpa Taught Me About Growing Anyway

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Get It Now

So God Made a Mother

Why I Let My Teenager Get a Tattoo

I couldn’t think of a more beautiful tribute. In fact, it still takes my breath away.

She sat straight up, wiped her face, swallowed hard, squeezed his hand, and told him he could go. She told him it was OK.

And in my mind, that makes her a true warrior.

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Farewell My Father: Walking the Trail of Beauty in Old Age

Sometimes Healing Doesn’t Look Like Moving On

Now that You’re Gone, I Sit In This Waiting Room Alone

She Was the Glue That Held Our Family Together

My Parents Will Never See This Face

The Due Date that Never Comes

Repotting Myself: What My One‑Armed Grandpa Taught Me About Growing Anyway

When I Look In the Mirror, I See My Mother

I Lost My Daughter on Mother’s Day: 3 Truths I’m Believing Today

I Miss Having Parents

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