When I Grow Up, I Want to Be an OLD Woman

Gram  B-Day about 2004

The first thing a woman thinks about when they tell her she has cancer is her HAIR. Most women spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about their hair and how they should or should not wear it; long or short; color it or not to color it; trendy or classic; straight or curly; thick or thin. It's as much of our identity as our name, color of our skin, profession, religious belief -- it is, for most women, how we perceive ourselves.  Hair may also be what we hide behind or the message we send. 

I've gone through a great many phases of hair in my life. From that first time Mom put highlights in my hair when I was 13 years old, I've been hooked. Hair is an accessory that I can change like a pair of shoes! It's been chocolate brown with caramel highlights and long. It's been short, punky and egglant; it's been platinum Jayne Mansfield blonde; it's been "cry for help" red and I've loved each and every phase -- including my current almost goth soft black with a little splash of blonde by my right jawline.

We change our hair when our life changes; new relationships, ends of relationships; children, death. I even made my hair as close to normal as possible (meaning my lost natural shade) when my Mom was in her last few months battling breast cancer and I wanted her to recognize and remember me. It didn't work, but I felt better.

Lately, I find myself dreaming about my Grammy's luxurious silver curls. Oh she had lovely hair. She started to gray early and I never knew her without a thick head of silver curls. And she was particular about her hair as she was about her grooming in general. Her hair was always clean and "done". You know -- set on curlers and styled at the beauty shop once a week.

Not long ago I had to the good fortune to accompany a friend to a memorial service for Marines. The ceremony was lovely, but I found myself gravitating to the wives and their lovely blue hair. They smelled of White Shoulders and Estee Lauder. Their eyes were bright and their skin was porcelain and crinkly and they were happy.  How I missed my Gram that day. And I couldn't take my eyes off of the hair. 

Why am I so obsessed with the silver hair? Am I afraid I will have to have chemo and lose it? Not really -- I know I will collect all kinds of fun wigs. I see a pink Britney bob. And then I dawned on me...will I ever be that little old lady with the bright eyes and crinkly smile and luscious silver curls?  I think it's because I will be that woman.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q15PlMFQdMg