Finally: Amaamaga, my mother, a sweet saxifrage flower yet a fierce warrior of a human. She has an enormous heart filled with love, despite the effects of genocide that she faced, and that we as Indigenous People still face to this day. Alone, she raised three children and three grandchildren, all while healing from her wounds and passing on valuable and loving knowledge along the way. At the age of 55, she received her first kakiniit, her forehead tattoo that represents her holding her late daughter, Patricia Anne Kikpak. This marking helped my mother through her grieving process by allowing her to finally let my sister rest. It allowed Amaamaga to move on with her life, releasing her daughter to the afterlife where she awaits. Often, our forehead markings, before our culture was interrupted, signified entering womanhood — the first tattoo to mark shortly after menstruation began. Now, we are reclaiming our culture and adapting it to fit our life today. My mother’s forehead tattoo is such an example of reclamation, healing with the aim to thrive instead of just surviving. And this year, at the age of 58, Amaamaga finally received her chin tattoo that she had been waiting for me to give her since I learned how to hand-poke and skin-stitch in 2017. 

As I prepared to give my first facial tattoo, on my mother’s chin, I peered over my shoulder to see Amaamaga calmly sewing a pair of mitts, looking peaceful and content. I took this moment to be grateful for the strength she has carried through her 58 years. I became emotional because she taught me the value of intergenerational healing — a common aspect and a thread between all Inuit who are tattooed. There we were, healing together. I remember the enormous feeling of pressure and pride with each poke as the afternoon sun filled my home. Like the never-ending flow of our kuugaq, my mother’s strength and love for her family, her people and her community has never ceased. Her session was the calmest session I have ever had, only the sound of the needle hooking her skin, allowing ink to enter and become one with her. Once her chin was completely marked, I placed my tattooed forehead onto hers, and while we shared a moment in the physical world between just us three Inuit ladies, I knew without a doubt that our ancestors filled the room and finally I didn’t have to wonder where my strength comes from — I was looking right at her, my mother tattooed, beaming with pride and joy with her new kakiniit.