Day 47
hair
I’m spending this weekend with all of my family except for my two grown children in Oregon. There are twenty-two of us here in the woods. I have two sisters and two brothers and nine nieces and nephews. I have a beautiful family of big smiles and great friendly generous spirits, and between all of us, there is a lot of hair.
Among us there is the silver white shoulder length hair of my mother and my dad’s salt and pepper head and beard. My brother’s hair is shaggy and has tints of red, which is likely how his daughter got the enviable strawberry blond curls she has. The little ones are mostly white blond cut short and up here in the woods they look like wild elves. One of my sisters has long black hair shot through with silver that is epic-ally sexy.
My long thick hair is heavy, but it reminds me of my family. I have carried it through so many cuts and perms and even a few dye jobs. Now it is just simply long and natural, the color gradually being washed out by the gray. I have this idea that someday, when I am old and near death, I will ask a grandchild or great-grandchild to cut the long braid I hope to have. I don’t care what they do with it, but I’d like to have some sort of ceremonious moment where I part with my hair before I part with this life. A prelude, a symbol of leaving. If I am blessed to live deep into old age, I imagine that the lightness I will feel once this heavy hair is gone, will be a lovely prelude to whatever comes next.
