Musings on Hair

My Hair, 2013  (mourning my mother)

Every look in the mirror or window

often

a remembrance that the fabric of my life has changed, torn, never the same

The curls flow and frizz and wind around and play

The grey is gentle

Big hair, lots of it, not controlled

Most strands for mom, a few curls for others who have gone before I was ready

There is a braid, a clip, some product, spray the curls, keep them shiny

Every look in the mirror or window

Often

A remembrance that the fabric of my life has changed, torn, never the same

Not able to be controlled

The Haircut, 2015

As part of my mourning practice I didn’t cut my hair for the year I said Kaddish for my dad. Soon my year is complete. Tomorrow I will cut my hair.

Every day I struggled with you, tangles, curls, frizz, out of control.

My vanity overruled by my need to have a daily reminder of my mourning.

As I prepare to cut my hair to mark the year, I notice that

You are still gone

You aren’t coming back

I am stunned

I didn’t know you well.

I knew you too well.

I am grateful for your long life

There is still more to know about you.

When I look in the mirror I will not see unkempt tangles, weariness, and the broken and confused heart. I will see you looking back.

Waiting.