Hair today, gone tomorrow.
Last night I shaved my mom’s hair off. Well, what was left of it anyway. I tried to keep the top and front just a little longer, kind of like Jamie Lee Curtis since she’s been hawking Activia. When I was done and my mom looked in the mirror, naturally, she started to cry.
Since I’ve been relentlessly positive with her since this started, I took a different tactic last night. I hugged her and told her it’s ok to be sad. It’s ok to be angry. It’s ok to cry.
In the end, only a few tears were shed. We pulled out the wig, worked on styling it, fitting it. She has two turban looking head wraps, we took turns trying them on and laughing.
When we were done, we toasted with valium, since mom can’t drink. And as she hands it to me, she says, “I bet the last time you took one of those was right after your dad died.” Ouch. That’s true. My grandmother’s answer to severe emotional pain is medication, so she came over with a bottle of valium. I took one. The next day, the rest were gone. 3 guesses who took those.
She seems ok today. Maybe her long dormant coping mechanisms have kicked in. In fact, she just called me to see if I wanted to go out to lunch, since she had a dentist appointment near my work. I know she’s not looking forward to more chemo but I’m glad she’s come to accept that it’s necessary.
But it doesn’t make it suck any less.