Hair Raising

I’m so happy in my life now

There was a time

When that was not so

Certainly

In all our lives

There are ups and downs

Good hair days

When you seem to sparkle just a little brighter

Then those days when your hair

And your life

Seem intent on ruining you

Isn’t it funny

How much our hair

Can dictate

Our mood

Our self worth

So much of our identity

Seems to mingle it’s way through every strand

Historically

Hair could

And often did

Dictate your place in society

Monarchs and Movie Stars alike

Have all bowed to it’s power

Hair can change your life

Just ask Jennifer Anniston

Or Bob Ross

Or Sinead O’Conner

Would Anna Wintour

Be Anna Wintour

Without her signature Pageboy Bob

What if Lucille had decided to be

Just another blonde

Or Linda Evangelista

Caved to the

“All the pretty girls have long hair” ideal

My Mother always had short hair

When she was my Mother anyways

When she was young she had long dark sheets of hair

That would cause Pricilla to blush with shame

Of course

After the Chemo and Radiation had it’s way

She had no hair

I will never forget

The day she had to shave it

The powerful merciless sense of loss

That seemed to collect on the floor

Alongside her leftover locks

My daughters hair

Each infinitely suit their natures

One Curly

Disheveled and a little

Glamorous

The other

Rock and Roll

Without even trying

Endlessly drifting into one eye

Our hair

Especially as women

For whatever reason

Seems to be an emotional memory sponge

It soaks up our memories

Reacts to our stress

Paints itself with our happiness

Or our soberness

I’ve had short hair most of my life

Probably because of her

But

I always secretly envied

Girls who could grow their hair long

Without effort

You know the ones

Long and thick and goddess like

Shiny and Lucious and always perfect

Draped like liquid sex appeal

Over one shoulder

My hair is fine textured

I have a normal amount

But it seemed to never want to grow

Past my jawbone

With any grace

It would always get dry and crackly and annoyed

Some seasons it curls and looks bouncy and fresh

Other seasons

It half curls half hangs

Like a preteen identity crisis

Lackluster from my head

My Love

Has the hair I have always wanted

He has the hair everyone has always wanted

The kind they make shampoo commercials about

Thick

Long

Amazing and effortless

Looks perfectly disheveled

When it air dries fresh out of the shower

My hair

Air dried

Fresh out of the shower

Looks like a Science experiment gone awry

Hair horror and hijinks aside

Theres something spiritual

Even Biblical

About our “Crown of Glory”

In fact

If you’ve never read the Bible

I can tell you

It talks about hair quite a bit

We are admonished

Not to worry too much

About adorning ourselves

Or elaborate hairstyles

At the same time

God uses it to illustrate our eternal worth

It’s volume is numbered

Each Individual one

Known to Heaven

It is portrayed as a symbol of strength

Of Glory

The blessings of old age

The springtime splendor

Of young beauty

Sampson had what could be a called

A tumultuous relationship with his

Up and down

To say the least

Absalom’s

Took his life

It was his beauty

And his eventual

Undoing

Your hair was to be

Anointed with oil

Biblically

If you were in mourning

You shaved your hair off

Covered your head in ashes

It was a symbol to those around you

That you had lost

That your world would never be the same

A touchstone

An alignment with the barren

After I had my second daughter

Aptly named Glory

My hair seemed to follow suit

It grew long and thick and effortless

It seemed to rejoice with me

Raced down past my shoulder with gladness

I enjoyed it for while

Reveled in the feel of it

Hanging down my back in the shower

It made me feel formidable

Desirable again

No small feat after two kids

In some respects

It lent me safety

Something to hide behind

A placeholder between me and the world

While I adjusted to Motherhood

All over again

Last December

When we lost a baby

It seemed to carry the weight of the world

To hang steeped in sorrow

Around my hollow cheeks and weary eyes

The ends were impossible to keep healthy

They had seen too much

Damaged and disappointed

Seemingly tethered around a limb of loss

While I swung at the air

Like Absalom before me

Helpless

Against the javelins of the enemy

Still

I felt

Or least

I told myself I felt

Pretty

Alluring

Brunette Brigette Bardot

My hair had never been this long or thick in my life

Cutting it would be insanity

Letting go of it would mean

More change

It would mean

New growth

And all the fun halfway hair

That goes along with that

One day

Riding in the car

I traced that feeling

Down to it’s beginning

What business was it

Of my hair

To dictate anything to me

Was I allowing fear

Via my hair

To control me

To tell me how to feel

To continually drape me in some sort of

Constant dread of loss

Was it every moment of everyday

Leading me back

To a well that was dry

See

It can be Biblical

I was reminded

During that long and epiphinous car ride

That when I met the Love of my life

When I felt the long dark clouds roll back

And the light of true Joy entered my world again

My hair was short

Shorn to my chin

And adored by the person

I adore the most

When I got pregnant again

The Doctor told me my due date

Was the exact same day

I had lost my last baby

My mind was made up

New beginning

New baby

New hair

The old had to go

The brand new was already on it’s way

So

I had it chopped off

The appointment was easy

Since having short hair isn’t foreign to me

I emerged feeling energized

Liberated

Fresh faced and hiding nothing

Like I had made room in my life

And on my head

To grow

Like all things new

It required me to make adjustments

To move through my routines a little differently

The public response didn’t hurt

So many of my nearest and dearest

Said how I looked like myself again

How my hair suited my personality

My Love

Would only say

“I love your short choppy hair.

I love it long too.

I love you however I can get you.”

It’s why I keep him

Now

9 months ripe with our Rainbow Baby

My hair is full also

Nearly back down to my shoulders

I’m great with that

Soon I’ll have new challenges to face

Joys to soak in

Identities will shatter

And be reborn

My hair may even end up

Back in a knot on the top of my head

But it will be a knot woven with life

Not mourning

Thirsty strands

Ready for memories

The pursuit of dreams

The knowledge that my allure

My magic

My daily inspiration

Runs way down deep

Past my roots