17,849.
That’s the number of days from the day I was born until the day my mom died.

I had her for 17,849 days. And while that sounds like a big number—like a lifetime of moments and memories—it will never feel like enough.

One item on my bucket list was to get a second tattoo. Originally, I planned for it to commemorate walking the Camino de Santiago this fall. But then my mom passed away, and everything shifted.

My mom had been ill for a very long time. Nearly five years ago, she received the incredible gift of a single lung transplant. For a while, it felt like hope had returned. That first year gave us time—precious, ordinary, beautiful time. But slowly, complications began to take their toll. Hospital visits became routine. Setbacks became familiar. She fought to stay—for her family, for her grandchildren, for all the moments still waiting to be lived—but eventually her body simply could not fight anymore.

She passed away on October 22, 2025.
And life hasn’t felt the same since.

My mom and I were close in the quiet, everyday ways that matter most.
When something good happened, I called her.
When something bad happened, I called her.
When I had a question—especially anything medical—I called her.

The strangest part of losing her is still that instinct to reach for the phone… and then remembering I can’t.

What I’m left with instead are the memories.
Childhood moments.
Teenage years—when I probably tortured her just a little bit (okay, maybe more than a little).
Growing up, getting married, and eventually having twins of my own—just like she did.

Through every season of my life, she was there.
Ready to listen.
Quick to tell a story.
Always able to offer steady, loving advice.

She was constant.
She was comfort.
She was home.

Mom was born on October 18 and died on October 22. The birth flower for October is the cosmos.

Cosmos flowers symbolize order, peace, harmony, and balance—words that feel perfectly chosen to describe who she was and how she lived.

So my second tattoo isn’t for the Camino after all.
It’s for Mom.

A simple cosmos flower, with the number 17,849 hidden in the stem—the number of days I was blessed to have her here with me.

Not enough days.
But beautiful ones.
Every single one.