September 28, 2004
Today is the day that I decided to let my hair go. I managed to make it through to the weekend. I only combed it once every morning for a week and sprayed it liberally to keep it in place. There was no way that I could wash it because I am quite certain it would have fallen out in drastic clumps.
I drove my car over the ridge to my daughter’s home with the sunroof and windows open, letting my hair blow in the breeze, one more time. Her mother-in-law, who so graciously cut and styled my hair in a shorter version last week, once again graciously, helped me. She buzzed the remainder of my hair off. There is no describing the feeling of hearing that buzzing noise coming to remove your crowning glory. Afterwards, she kindly asked if I would like to see how it looked in a mirror or just put my wig on. I opted for the wig. I figured I would rather mourn alone.
Now I look like a bona fide cancer patient. It is one thing to know you are one, to be medically treated as one but it is one difficult thing on the psychic to look like one. Yes, I know and have been reminded that being bald and sporting a ‘concentration camp do’ is temporary. But it is several months temporary. And I miss my hair.
