Hair

What little hair was left, stood at my feet; just a few strands. She was so calm and cool and relaxed as the machine buzzed off what was left.

I, on the other hand, thought I was going to have a nervous breakdown. I felt the panic attack slowly creeping in. I could feel the glare of the people sitting in the waiting area.  There was one particular lady who kept looking and I swear I had to use all the strength in me not to yell: “Take a fucking picture, it’ll last longer!”

Why so upset? It is just hair. And anyone who knows me, really knows me, knows that I have never given a fuck about hair.  Never. Ever.

Why upset now? Cause it’s my kid. Cause, unlike me, she is not shaving it off for fashion or because she wants it that way.  It is because we must. Upset because since the beginning of time we were told that a crown of hair over our heads was the ultimate woman standard.  The normal standard; which at times, is what is needed to survive.

And I cannot wrap my head around this.
This week she told me she was trash.
TRASH.
Because she felt she was not worth anything.
And I stood in agony.
Wanting so many things.
I stood grieving. 16 years later.  Still grieving. Our grief never ends.

 So I suggested that maybe she should cut what little hair she had left, so we could work on getting it even again; start from 0. She said “No”.

“What am I going to look like? I am going to look ugly”.  I did not insist.  Later in the week, she announced that she wanted to cut it.

So today she sat on the chair and parted ways with what little she had that she considered “pretty”.
In the bravest, most fearless way you can imagine.

She walked out with her head high and when we got home to her new baby bird, who yet has no feathers, she leaned in and whispered:

“Now we look alike”, in the sweetest, most endearing way possible.

No one who is not in your shoes, will ever understand what it feels to grieve a child you still have. But also, no one who is not in your shoes, will ever understand what it feels to have so much admiration for a child. With or without hair.

And not today or tomorrow, but in a few years, kid, I want you to read this.  And I want you to know that while my heart breaks on one end, you manage to make me so fucking proud.  I know I tell you all the time, but you need to know how valuable you are. You are worthy.  You are exceptional. You have such a huge heart.  I am proud of you.  I am proud of how you carried yourself today, with such grace and poise and bravery.  I am honored to be your mom.

And for those who are still reading, please, PLEASE tell your kids how valuable they are. Let them know every day the impact they can make in this world and in your lives.  Telling them they are pretty or handsome is nice, but also let them know they are brave, caring and brilliant.  In the same say we are quick to punish and point out the bad, let us be equally quick to point out and celebrate the good. Make your homes safe places for them to be in, to confide in, to grow in.