“I love his Einstein hair!” my nephew always comments. My dad’s hair, unruly and wild, definitely looked like Einstein, but that ended with a haircut by Bev. Despite my dad’s desire to stay in his room, I wheeled him to the salon where he received a haircut and eyebrow trim.
During the appointment, Bev chatted about my mother and her enjoyment of getting her hair done. My dad, always cautious with his money, expressed reluctance to pay for what he viewed as frivolous. Bev shared how my mother would whisper, “If Bert says it’s okay, I will come and get my hair done!” My brother and I learned about my dad’s reluctance and purchased a hair certificate for my mother as a present.
While chatting with Bev, I thought of other times when we focused on Mom’s hair. When my mother was close to death at Waterford, she was supposed to get a haircut, but it seemed pointless so we canceled. While at Freedom, my aunt visited and marveled at my mom’s plethora of hair. My aunt was wearing a wig because of cancer treatments. While completing the funeral arrangements, the director asked if we wanted Mom’s hair done a certain way. Thinking that was definitely silly since it was a closed casket, we responded that it didn’t matter. At the funeral, when our family viewed Mom for one last time, I had to feel her hair for one more time. It still maintained its form, mostly because of hair product.
The day ended with me driving back on M-6, thinking about hair. It was another moment of remembering my mother.
A Journey Worth Remembering 