Yesterday I woke up with long hair. It nearly reached my waist but the bottom three inches were shaggy. Robyn wanted a haircut before the Homecoming dance this Saturday so I figured I’d go in with her to get my hair cut at the same time.
As she fastened the drape around my neck I asked the stylist to trim three or four inches to clean it up. “If you get it cut to here" she said sweeping the tops of my shoulders with her hands "you’ll have enough to donate to Locks of Love”.
“Go for it!” I told her.
She called to Robyn two chairs away as she braided my hair, “Do you want to cut your mom’s braid off?”
“Sure! It’ll be like payback for all the haircuts she gave ME!”
I cringed as I felt Robyn’s firm tug and heard the crunching of the scissors divide me from almost twelve inches of my hair. But once it was done I felt light! Enough hair covered my neck to keep me warm in the coming winter. And I knew I had made a minor contribution to a young girl at a time in her life when the love of strangers might make a difference.
As the stylist worked she asked, “Is Robyn your only child?”
“No. We have four surviving children. Our oldest died almost two and a half years ago at 31 of diabetes.”
I answered her questions about our loss. We talked about how difficult this time has been, and my struggle to move forward.
After snipping the last fly away strands from my hair she retrieved my braid from the small counter in front of me. Holding it up she said, “Look! We cut off all the sad hair. All you have left now is happy hair!”
Does hair hold memory? Hmmm.... I ran my fingers through my happy hair fluffing up the short, wavy strands as a gentle spirit settle into my heart.
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