A note from reporter Sarah Payne: I was fortunate to meet Beverley Klein for an interview on March 26. It was one of her last wishes to see this story in the newspaper and, despite being gravely ill, Klein was enthusiastic and upbeat throughout the hour-long interview. Much of this story had been written when Klein passed away early Monday, April 2.
Beverley Klein was many things in her 73 years.
A doted-on little sister to two brothers. A devoted mother to four boys. A wife, three times over. A sweet little girl who adored her Air Force father, and never dreamed of disobeying him.
That is, until recently.
Klein was dying of cancer and spending her last days at Crossroads Hospice. It was hospice volunteers who hatched a plan to fulfill a lifelong dream of Klein's - a bit of giddy rebellion for a woman who has always played by the rules.
Klein got a tattoo.
It came nearly 60 years after she first asked her father for permission to get one, and was promptly refused.
'BEAUTIFUL ENOUGH'
The Second World War was looming when Klein was born on Jan. 25, 1939 in Portage La Prairie, Man.
Her mother worked as a farm hand while her father, a flight lieutenant who worked in the control tower, was away for long stretches of time.
"They were the most awesome, awesome parents you could imagine," Klein recalled. Neither was overly strict but the house rules were well known and she and her brothers lived by them, plain and simple.
Growing up, Klein was fascinated by Canadian First Nations and native American stories, studying the histories of various tribes, and she was particularly drawn to the hummingbird as a personal totem animal because of its protective nature.
When she was about 15 years old, she asked her father if she could get a hummingbird tattoo. Her two older brothers had already been refused their requests but Klein, who has always seen tattoos as a "beautiful piece of exotic jewelry," figured she'd give it a shot. Her dad said no.
"He said I was beautiful enough already," she smiled.
She didn't even consider going against her father's wishes. "Not because I was afraid of him, but out of sheer respect and love."
THE HUMMINGBIRD
A few years later, Klein got married and soon added four sons to the family, which eventually settled in Coquitlam.
She could have gone to the tattoo parlour then; her father wouldn't even have to know. But money was tight. "There was always an extra pair of shoes to buy, or a jacket, or someone else to help out," she said, noting a tattoo was an extravagance the family could not afford.
Once the kids were older, she and her husband, Don Klein, spent weekends camping or hitting the road on their motorcycles, so there wasn't the time to sit in an artist's chair for a bit of ink.
"A tattoo was the last thing we needed, so I just kept bumping myself back further and further," she said.
About 30 years ago, Klein told her son's friend, a member of the Cheam First Nation in Chilliwack, that she'd always considered the hummingbird her personal symbol. He later presented her with an elaborately carved hummingbird cane, and honoured her by making the bird her family's totem.
"I found out it's one of the highest honours they can give you," Klein said.
It wasn't the tattoo she was still dreaming of but Klein was deeply touched by the hummingbird gifts and considered her family's totem a great source of pride. She was always a petite woman but, like the hummingbird, Klein was fiercely protective of her family - and even on the job.
She spent more than 15 years as a security guard at the ScotiaBank tower in downtown Vancouver. There were several times when she had to "talk someone out of the building," but with a calm, steady nature, Klein was never frightened by the work.
Don Klein said it's because she's always had a sixth sense about people and an uncanny intuition about how things were about to unfold.
"I had a feeling about ovarian cancer, too," Klein said quietly as her husband chatted on the phone in her bright hospice room. She'd had a premonition years ago about the disease but when she fell ill on their annual summer trip to visit friends in Osoyoos last year, Klein thought she had food poisoning.
She was wrong. By the end of the year, after having several surgeries, Klein was in palliative care, and was later moved to Crossroads Hospice.
A SON'S GIFT
About a month ago, Klein's son, Andy Leepart, was visiting his mom at Crossroads and mentioned an upcoming tattoo appointment.
"She got to telling me she had always wanted to get a tattoo but she'd never got it done, and she wished she had," said Leepart, a Maple Ridge resident.
He asked her what she would have done if she'd been able to get the tattoo of her dreams, and Klein told him about the hummingbird. He went home and called his tattoo artist; not knowing how much time his mother had left, he asked to move up his appointment by a couple of weeks.
On March 9, instead getting himself inked with the images of skulls and flames that characterize most of his other tattoos, Leepart chose a picture of a bright green hummingbird to go on his right shoulder. It hovers over four pink peonies, representing each of Klein's sons.
He had the drawing framed and presented it to his mother the following day before drawing back his shirt to show her the new tattoo.
"I was proud to have it... and she loved it," Leepart said. "There were tears in her eyes."
Klein was stunned, and humbled. "I would never expect someone to put something I wanted on their body... but I'm so proud."
FINALLY
Klein wasn't the only one who was touched.
Hospice volunteers got in on the action and started making calls to see if Klein could get the tattoo she'd always wanted.
Elly Hageman and another volunteer eventually found Port Coquitlam's Ink and Honey. Owner Steve Maidana didn't hesitate when asked to do a tattoo on a hospice patient.
"How can you say no if you have a chance to do something like that?" Maidana asked, and deflected the attention to hospice volunteers. "I did one thing one time, and that's fine, but those people work there every day, and they need the praise and attention."
So one afternoon, Maidana and tattoo artist Janaya Singer arrived at Klein's room, and found her giddy with excitement. They got to work and in an hour Klein had a colourful drawing - done with markers, not needles - of a hummingbird and two pink flowers.
Ever practical, Klein was happy not have the real thing.
"I'm going much sooner than I planned," she said, "so it's sort of a waste of money."
Besides, she added, "I never got my tattoo because it was meant to be this way, with the story of my son getting this tattoo. This is more important than having my own."
And what must her father be thinking?
Klein figured that, up in heaven, he was probably laughing.
"I know my dad loves me, whether this was inked on or not," she said, glancing at her right forearm. "I feel we finally compromised."
