What We Carry Forward

A sleeve of flowers. A handwritten phrase. A lesson from St. Michael.

In this episode, I share the story behind my first tattoo and how it became a reminder that grief isn’t about leaving everything behind—it’s about deciding what comes with us. A personal reflection on loss, healing, faith, and the moments that quietly change the direction of our lives.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:00

Hey guys. Today I want to talk about what we carry forward. When we lose someone, we don't take everything with us. We can't. But we do choose a few things a tradition, stories, a belief, lessons. And somehow those small things become a bridge between who we were and who we're becoming. If this is something you've been thinking about lately, you're in the right place. I'm Chris, and this is the seventh paradigm. There are events in our lives when we can go back and mark them as ground zero for our transformations. I know I have several throughout my life. And we can go back to an exact moment where an idea came to mind. One of those for me was the morning after my wife passed away. I woke up with this idea that I was gonna get a sleeve of flowers tattooed for my wife. Out of all things, that's the first thought I had when I woke up that morning. I even texted my daughter about that idea. And at that point in my life, at the age of forty five, I had zero tattoos. My daughter had several. Now I've always wanted tattoos. I've wanted tattoos since I was in my late teens, but the fear of the pain kept me from getting any. And looking back, that's almost funny. Because after losing my wife, the physical pain of the tattoo was nothing compared to the grief. By then, I already knew what real pain felt like. And I know I realize tattoos are trivial to some people. And I know a guy getting his first tattoo at 45 can look like a midlife crisis. But I wasn't trying to relive my youth. I wasn't trying to chase some girl. I was trying to find my footing. And if I'm being honest, I'm glad I didn't get any in my youth. Because right now I'd be trying to explain why I have a bizarro Superman tattoo on my arm. And um, but my daughter entertained the idea, and here we go. We're off on this side journey together, looking up ideas, and she found an artist that would end up doing my sleeve. I wasn't thinking about transformations. I was just trying to survive. And when I finally sat down with the artist, he looked at my arm and said, You got a long arm. That's a lot of flowers. What else would you want? And I started thinking about everything that had gone through our relationship in our past, and I started talking about the blessed mother on my forearm with roses around my wrist. And I picked the blessed mother because our wedding mass was dedicated to her. And he looked at me and he said, No roses. And I remember my wife had callilies in her wedding bouquet, and he told me some people associate the lily as a flower of Saint Joseph. And then suddenly that tattoo idea I had symbolized a lot more than just a tattoo I wanted. It symbolized husband and wife. My wife loved flowers. And after she was gone, I found myself carrying around this feeling that I hadn't given her enough of them while she was here. Maybe that's guilt. Maybe that's grief. Maybe those two things are closer to each other than we'd like to admit. But that's one of the reasons my forearm is covered in flowers today. Because now, wherever I go, she always has her flowers. But the flowers weren't the only thing that found their way onto my arm. My wife was also a calligrapher. After she passed away, I found a phrase she had written in one of her notebooks, not on her iPad, not in a computer, handwritten in ink. And what makes me smile about this is that she wrote it in a notebook full of bills, budgets, and everyday life. Right there in the middle of ordinary things was something beautiful. When I found it, I knew it belonged on my arm too. Not because it was a famous quote, not because it was profound, but because it was hers. The phrase was simple, and I don't even know where it came from. But I had to have it tattooed. The phrase was family always comes first. Looking back at it, it wasn't really about getting a tattoo. It was about refusing to leave everything behind. The flowers, the phrase, the memories. I was trying to carry pieces of her forward. I just didn't know it yet. Up to this point, everything on my arm was about carrying a piece of my wife forward. But there was one part of the tattoo that was about something else entirely. I found a picture of a statue of Saint Michael that I loved. He wasn't charging into battle. He wasn't standing victorious over the devil. The serpent was already defeated. His sword was lowered. To me, he looked like a warrior who had finally finished fighting. And after everything that had happened, that's exactly what I wanted. I wanted the fight to be over. When I showed the picture to the artist, he looked at me and said something I'll never forget. He looked at me and he said, Saint Michael is never done fighting. And I took that as he's never done protecting us. And at the time, I thought he was talking about the design. He came back with Saint Michael in a suit of armor, holding his sword like he's walking into a fight. And I know it's my tattoo, and I know I was working with the artist, but it was so badass. It's so badass. I had to say yes, like let's do it, let's go. And the funny thing is, the Saint Michael that I wanted and the Saint Michael he drew for me weren't exactly the same. I wanted a warrior whose battle was over. He gave me a warrior who was still moving forward. Looking back, I think he was talking about life because the fight wasn't over. I still had a daughter who needed her dad, and a little girl who still needed her grandpa. I still had a life to rebuild. I still had grief to work through. I still had a future I couldn't even imagine yet. And maybe that's the lesson Saint Michael was teaching me before I was ready to hear it. Sometimes we don't get to lay down our sword. We just learn what we're fighting for. Looking back, I thought I was getting a tattoo. I thought I was honoring my wife. And I was. But I think something else was happening too. The flowers reminded me of who she was. The phrase reminded me of what mattered. And Saint Michael reminded me that my story wasn't over. There are moments in our lives that become ground zeros. Moments we don't recognize at the time. A conversation, an idea, a decision. The morning after my wife passed away was one of those moments for me. I woke up thinking about a sleeve of flowers. What I didn't realize was that that was the beginning of a long process of carrying pieces of my old life into a new one. And maybe that's what transformation really is. Not leaving everything behind, but deciding what comes with us. And listen, before I go, I want to thank everyone who's been listening since the very first episode when I started this podcast. I had no idea what I'm doing. I record in my living room, and sometimes you'll hear the neighborhood in the background. And this isn't a studio. This isn't a professional studio. This is just a guy in his living room putting his thoughts on a podcast. And in a lot of ways, I'm still finding my voice. So thank y'all for being patient with me and coming along for the ride. I appreciate every listen, every message, and every person who shared an episode with somebody else. So from the bottom of my heart, my sincere gratitude and thanks to every each one of you. And if you ever had one of those ground zero moments in your life, I'd love to hear about it. Reach out on Instagram or TikTok at the Seventh Paradigm and let me know. I'd love to get the conversation started. And if this episode resonated with you, please follow the show and share it with someone who might need to hear it. And as always, be blessed, be safe, and go build.