Sacrifice and Grace

I have a love-love relationship with my hair. It is thick and soft and shiny.
I like to hide behind it and run my fingers through it and I almost never put any kind of product in it because I love the way it moves on its own.

My hair has been long enough to sit on and as short as a boy's and every length in between. I've had bangs and no bangs. It's been all one length and layered almost mercilessly. I have had a perm or two - but not for almost 20 years. It has been every shade of red: an almost black-purple, fiery orange, dark magenta, auburn. It has been highlighted and low-lighted and been the test-dummy for countless color technique classes.

When I got married the first time and we had less than no money I actually cried the first time I had to buy shampoo at the grocery store. I felt guilty for treating it so badly.

The main drawbacks of my hair are that it refuses to hold a curl and if I don't wash it every day it is greasy and horrible. Really? All things considered? Those are not things that are difficult to manage. I love the smell of shampoo and the soft weight of hair on my face when I sleep.

It is the one thing about myself that I have never been unhappy with.

Every boy I've ever loved has loved my hair... one boy loved it so much that when he left me I cut it all off. When he saw me next he got this look of grief on his face and unconsciously reached out a hand toward the ends of what was left before I took a step backwards and he remembered he wasn't supposed to touch me. It felt good that something I did affected him because for most of our relationship nothing seemed to. It made me wish I'd shaved it off just to intensify that.

But that would have been crazy. It would have been crazy to shave my head for any boy...
But...
Someone I love is sick.
Someone I love more than the comfort of the glossy swing of my hair.
Someone I love has had tests and surgeries and more tests and waiting.
Someone I love will be fine, but the road to fine is long and bumpy and scary.

I would take on all of it for her if I could. I would fix it. Fix. It.
But I can't. I can't make it better or change it. But I can sacrifice the one thing about myself I love the most so that someone I love doesn't have to be bald by herself.
She is so brave and amazing and I am so scared and small.

It is not about me. It is not even about the hair really. I know that this sacrifice is infinitesimally small compared to her experience of her illness and recovery.
This is merely a gesture, dramatic as it may be.
My hair will grow back - and in my experience it will grow back quickly. This time next year will probably look very much as it does right this second. And while she will absolutely recover, emotionally this will take more time for her. And I don't even know how to help her with that. I don't remember how the healing of my own emotional trauma began two years ago, but I do know that I am still not healed. Better. But not healed.

I practiced today with scarves. I've looked online for instructions about tying them.

I hope when the time comes to make this sacrifice I will handle it as gracefully and beautifully as she has handled the last few months. I hope this gesture - dramatic but small - will offer some kind of comfort to her.