For thirty-nine years I thought the small blue flower on my mother’s wrist was a tattoo she got when she was young. Last month a nurse pushed her sleeve up, saw it, and walked out to get security — and everything I assumed about what that meant was backwards.
PART 1 Mom has had that flower for as long as I have been alive. Inside of the left wrist. Small — smaller than a dime. Faded to almost grey. The kind of thing you…









