In health and in life; in paint and in ink.

[the original]

In May of 2002, my mother decide she’d had enough of Ottawa winters and moved to the town of Picton in Prince Edward County, south of Belleville, Ontario. An attractive yet modest house on quiet Burns Ave would become her new home for the next eight years.

As boxes were unpacked and furniture arranged, pictures and paintings were carefully hung. One painting–a print of Gustav Klimt’s Hygeia–was to be hung above the stairs leading to the second floor. An awkward spot to reach, its hanging was delayed and delayed. Eventually, it made its way into the spare room and finally to collect dust laying under the spare bed. Intimate sessions generic cialis online are not only for pleasure but also cause erectile dysfunction. viagra pharmacy prices After the successful name registration, the medicine will knock at the door immediately. But whatever the problem is, there is definitely a more levitra 20mg price proactive and logically productive approach to take for couples who are struggling to conceive – much better than the temporary lift from coffee. Scientists found that men click address on line levitra taking these medicines are more likely to have sex than woman. For eight years, Hygeia, the goddess of hygiene, the prevention of sickness and the continuation of good health, remained hidden.

The summer before moving to The County, my mother learned that she had breast cancer. Though her’s was the most aggressive form of breast cancer, when detected early enough, treatment can be quite successful.

For the next eight and a half years, my mother fought the disease with incredible courage, unwilling to lose a sense of normalcy, unwilling to give over control of her life. Though always remaining strong, vibrant and dignified after nearly nine years the end did come.

All the while my mother lived in that house she never enjoyed it as she ought to. Doctors and specialists; treatments and appointments would preoccupy her life, making it difficult to live as she had hoped. While constantly fighting her sickness, that image of health lay hidden, never enjoyed as it ought be.

So now, both as a symbol of healthy living and to honour my mother’s memory, that painting–deftly interpreted by tattoo artist Joey Burnz–is proudly displayed on my right shoulder.
While this tattoo may serve to remind me of what has happened, its real purpose is to remind us all to live life to its fullest, never under the bed covered in dust.