My Story is on My Skin

I have freckles that appear on my skin when I am out in the sun. This is who I am; because my mother has the same skin, so did my grandmother and I can only image her mother did as well. My story is on my skin. I am a culmination of all these women. I am the result of their years of joy and heartache and I share their story; on my skin.

I have a bumpy pale scar on my left knee and a twist of skin on my right wrist; all war wounds from a youth well played. When I am a shrivelled up old woman I will still have physical proof that I rode my bike down the gargantuan gravel hill and made it...most of the way. I will still have proof that the wind whipped through my hair and sun shone on my back. I will be able to tell a small child that it is, in fact, a bad idea to stand on the back of someone’s skis when they are headed downhill. This was a lesson I learned at Smuggler’s Notch Vermont on a high school ski trip, that my wrist now reminds me daily. I don’t recall it hurting all that much when it happened but the scar remains as my skin tells my story. 

My ring finger on my left hand has a light tan line, regardless of the time of year. We couldn’t afford an engagement ring when we got married so I used my grandmother's and wore a silver band purchased at a Highland Games in Fergus, Ontario. Only 10 years later as we renewed our vows did I get my own wedding set. It never mattered what rings were on my finger, it left the same mark. My heart has known all along that I was his regardless of how much we had and what we could afford; my skin tells that story as well. My whole being is married to him and we share a new story each and every day.

I had smooth skin all over my abdomen 11 years ago; but after that my skin; and my story would be forever changed.  Christmas Eve of 2002 I held my little baby in my arms for the first time and through bleary exhaustion and fading pain I knew I was a new creature. I was a mother. My soul knew it but my skin would tell that story for the rest of my life. My badge of honour for the hours spent labouring a child I would die for to her first breath of life.

My skin story is so much a part of me I couldn’t be without it. I wear it every day and though some days I think I am falling apart; my story keeps me together. There will be many more scars and marks my story will share with my skin before the day I will just be a story. I choose to love each and everyone because they are mine, they are me.