8 -- Flow It, Show It, Long As God Can Grow It, My Hair! / CROWN

July 12, 2018

OK I admit it.  I am a vain woman, especially about my hair.  It’s really thick, and coarse, reaching halfway down my back.  Most people have no idea how long it really is because I keep it clipped up in the heat of the summer.   

I began noticing silver strands when I was in my teens.  I colored it, off and on, for years.  But eventually, I just let it become its natural silver color, and eventually it led to my nickname, Silver.  I liked to let it grow long so I could put it up in a French braid.  To me, it looked elegant when I braided it like that.  

Yes.  Vanity, thy name is Silver! 

The week of July 12, I had felt tired.  Really bone-jarring, weary, tired.  I slogged through every single day. The medication I was taking worked some, but once it wore off, my head drooped, with my chin to my chest unless I pushed it up with my hand, or sat with my back supported.  I was also extremely short of breath.  A walk from my bedroom to the living room required that I stop halfway and sit down in the dining room to catch my breath.  I pared down my “must-do” list for the week so I would do only the barest minimum of tasks to get by.  Mainly, I wanted to conserve my energy so I could go to our friends’ wedding on Saturday.  I’d looked forward to the wedding for months and was determined I would go if there was any way possible.

The wedding was on Saturday – so I reasoned I could wash my hair on Thursday and let it air-dry all day.  On Friday I would figure out a way to style it or curl it so it would look nice on Saturday.  A simple plan, right?

Thursday morning, I got up and wobbled into the bathroom.  When my head droops, my coordination and balance are really thrown off.  I gathered the shampoo, conditioner, and comb and placed them on the shower seat within easy reach, my towels were just outside the shower stall.

I was all set to give myself a shampoo. Such a simple, normal task, I’ve done it thousands of times.

I stepped into the shower, turned on the water, adjusting it to a comfortable temperature.  I sat on the seat and leaned back, letting the water hit my face and run over me.  It felt really good and I relished the solitude of the moment.  

Then I leaned forward to get my long hair wet.

I grabbed the shampoo and squirted a bit in my hand then began to massage it through all that wet hair.   Heavy when dry, the addition of the water added more weight than I realized.  My hair fell over my face in lanky ropes, creating a wall in front of my face that may as well have been concrete – it was so heavy I was struggling to just squeeze the shampoo through it.  I couldn’t push my head up, water began coursing into my eyes, my nose, my mouth.  My hair was getting heavier and heavier as I fought to try to push my head up, push my hair back, get the soap out of my face.  

I began to feel panic rising, like a scream in my throat.  But I didn’t have enough wind to scream.   I felt smothered, the water was too warm and the steam was being trapped in front of my face and I was forcing myself to remember to just breathe as best as I could.  I did not have enough breath support to even call out for help, not that David could have even heard my weak pleas from another room.  

I gave up the idea of actually shampooing my hair, and just hoped I could hold on enough to at least get the soap rinsed out of it by letting the water run over my head.  I felt around to at least turn the water a bit cooler – I couldn’t raise my head to actually see the controls but I managed to turn it almost all the way to cold.  I sat with my head down, chin to chest, elbows on my knees, hands surrounding my face to keep an air supply open.  My long hair, coursing with cold water dangled towards the floor of the shower and I was just sitting there, gasping for air, hoping that the soap was being rinsed out as much as possible.  My panic began to subside, only to be replaced with absolute bone-gripping weariness. 

I don’t know how long I sat there under the cold running water. I think it was quite a while.  But as I let the water course over me, I thought about  my great-aunt Margaret.  Years ago, I overheard her telling my grandmother about watching her hair falling out in the shower after chemo treatments, and how she cried as she watched it swirling around the drain.  I wanted to cry, too, because I knew what I had to do – but had no breath support to cry.  At last, I reached up and turned off the water. 

David came in a few minutes later to check on me, since he’d heard the water turn off.  I was still sitting in the shower, head in hands, dripping wet, exhausted, too weak to even speak.  He grabbed my towel and gently helped dry me off.  He put my arms around his neck and helped me out of the shower. Sat me in a chair.  Dressed me.  Put lotion on my skin.  Began combing through my hair.  All the while telling me it was ok, it was ok. 

When I at last had the strength to speak, I mumbled, “The hair has got to go.  Please call Peggy.”  My eyes were full of tears.  I felt so defeated.

Peggy is one of my best friends.  She is also a retired hairdresser.  She immediately agreed to cut my hair that afternoon, and promised that she would make it look "just right" for me.   She blessed my life that day.

And so, it was done.   

 I am, at heart, an optimist.  I look for the "silver lining" in all situations.  By the end of the day, I was feeling better about the haircut.  It was cooler.  It felt lighter.  It is easier to maintain.  And Peggy was right, she made sure it looked "just right"  on me.  It'll grow back.  

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Untethered Time Travel:  CROWN

I am 13 years old and the piano recital is tonight.  Many of my friends participating check out of school early to get their hair done -- recitals are a dressy affair!  I don't leave school early, but my mom takes me to Gladys Caudle, a cousin who is a hairdresser.  I tell her that lots of the girls are putting their hair "up" for the event.  I'd like mine that way, too, but Gladys and my mom both think that look is a bit "old" for someone my age.  Truth be told, my hair at that time probably isn't long enough to successfully manage an updo.  I want to pout (haha) but Gladys says she has an idea that will be "just right."
She washes, sets, and dries my hair, then begins to work her magic in styling.
It looks pretty -- then she adds a finishing touch:  glitter.
She generously coats my hair with spray, 
then sprinkles the golden flecks on top of my head.  
At the recital, I am wearing a pretty dress.  I play "Pomp and Circumstance."
I curtsy when I finish playing.  My teacher gives awards to her students, and mine is a tiny plastic bust of Beethoven.
In the car on the way home, my mom says I did a great job.
My dad says my hair looked like I was wearing a golden crown.
I smile.