My tattoo can talk!

My hubby found a way to keep my mum alive...

Clutching my phone, I swiped furiously through Facebook.

‘There’s got to be something here!’ I said to my hubby Shane, 29. I was desperate. It was this January, and I was determined to find a video clip from my mum Leslie. Mum and I had been so close. But in December 2015, Mum had to take time off work after falling and hurting her hip. One morning, she texted me. I’m just stressed about money, sweetheart, but don’t worry about me.

Everything will work out fine, I replied. See you soon, love you.

Only later, my phone rang – it was my Aunt Bonnie, 70, who lived with Mum.

‘Your mum’s collapsed!’ she cried.

My stomach churned. She’d only texted a few hours ago.

What’s going on?

Shane and I raced over. ‘What happened? Where is she?’ I cried as we pulled up.

‘She’s on her way to hospital, but Caitlin...it’s bad,’ Aunt Bonnie said gravely.

She’d found Mum collapsed on the floor and had called an ambulance.

This can’t be real, I thought,

terrified for Mum. We raced to Banner Gateway Hospital, where Mum was on life support. Three hours later, we were allowed to see her. ‘Come on, Mum! Wake up!’ I pleaded. But then the doctor came in, his face grave. He told me Mum’d suffered a heart attack and her body was shutting down. ‘There’s nothing more we can do,’ he said. I fell into

Shane’s arms, sobbing brokenly. Mum was dying… Over the next few hours, we said our goodbyes.

‘I love you, Mum,’ I wept, kissing her forehead.

And then my beloved mum slipped away, aged just 59.

Back home, Shane and I sat down our kids – Caden, now 10, Jaxon, 7, Cali, 6, and Madilynn, 1.

I simply told them that Nana was gone. We were all heartbroken. We struggled, knowing we’d never see her smile, or hear her laugh again.

After Mum’s funeral, I’d spend hours looking at all the photos I had of her.

‘But I wish I could hear her voice again,’ I told Shane.

Then, late last year, Shane came across something truly amazing.

‘Look at this!’ he yelled.

Wandering over, I stared blankly at his laptop screen.

I knew I was looking at someone’s tattoo – but it just looked like a load of lines to me. ‘Wait for it…’ Shane grinned. He clicked on the picture and then I heard someone’s voice.

A voicemail from someone else’s loved one, who’d died.

‘Someone’s found a way to make tattoos that make sound!’ he smiled. ‘Wow!’ I cried. It was incredible. The science was beyond me but, somehow, sound clips were converted into printed images, which could then be inked onto skin.

The tattoos could then be played using a special app called Skin Motion.

And Shane was a tattooist.

Now I realised what this meant...

‘If I could find a clip of Mum’s voice, you could ink it for me!’ I gasped. ‘Yep,’ he grinned. Kissing him, I raced to grab my phone and then sat scrolling through everything I’d ever posted online.

I was desperate to find something – anything – with Mum’s voice on.

A few days later, I was about to give up when...

‘I’ve found one!’ I cried. And it was perfect!

It was from my 25th birthday, four years before Mum had died.

So Shane registered with Skin Motion, and learnt from them directly how to tattoo soundwaves.

Soon, he’d created his first soundwave tattoo which was the same one I heard a few days earlier.

Listening to it, I was impressed – and excited! ‘Me, next,’ I grinned. So, this January, Shane uploaded my clip into the Skin Motion smartphone app, which generated a soundwave stencil.

Then I sat nervously in his tattoo studio as he inked the lines onto the inside of my left ankle.

I was already covered in tattoos, but none meant as much to me as this one.

Afterwards, I took a photo of it, and uploaded it to Skin Motion.

Within 24 hours, it was ready to be played.

Opening the app, I ran the my phone over my new tattoo, my heart in my mouth.

‘Happy birthday, girl…’ the voice sang.

It was Mum, as clear as day.

My eyes filled with tears, as I listened to the clip.

I played it to the kids, and they were amazed, too.

Now I play my tattoo a couple of times every day.

Being able to hear Mum’s voice, any time, anywhere, is such a huge comfort.

It’s as if she’s always with me.

I sat nervously as he inked in the lines on my ankle