Something about the experiences of cancer, chemo, and 150-mile-an-hour onset menopause have forever changed me. Nine years ago, at the age of 50, I faced death, and helplessness, and the fragility of life. The fixer became the being-fixed; the nurturer, the nurtured; the know-it-all, bamboozled; the perfectionist, glaringly imperfect. I now tend to see things differently. Eclectic. Varied. With a sense for the unseen; sometimes 20/20, other times, not.
On a temporal note, I define life lessons in the decade of my 50s through the fickle eyes of an ever-changing coiffure. Rather than having a bad hair day, try having a bad hair decade. Every day of adulthood, my hair was there. I almost took it for granted. ~ Just as (in adulthood) my husband and children were always... nearby, anyway.
- I faced serious denial. I knew that cancer and chemo for me would be different. My physcal agility and thick hair would never leave. But, alas, they both temporarily departed. It seemed like forever. ~ I felt the sting of expectations denied. Chemo’s fire disturbingly caused hair clumps to fall to the shower floor. Those unfaithful locks left me for the dirty sewer. "You're.Cheating. On.Me!" I vented, by chopping it all off, with my own two hands.
- Recently-discovered, never-before-viewed Christmas 2006 family footage shocked me. Sporting a shiny chemo wig, covering that shiny cue ball head... I felt vulnerable and awkwardly fake, but covered nonetheless. ~ I was oh so vulnerable; but, fortunately, my life was sovereignly covered. The shine of that holiday could have instead been quite dim.
- Our distraught children’s tears and prayers for healing, and today seeing my daughter’s 2007 courtship and wedding photos. Oh, that kinky, short hair. ~ New and different emotional growth was occurring during that chapter of our family's life, which could have played out oh so ghastly.
- And then, hair shafts grew. I learned to appreciate the kinky curls, as well as its body. But, hair being fickle as fairy tales. Psyche! it reverted back to its pre-cancer, cowlicky and thick with fine strands texture. I had to re-adjust, to dance with its adulterous return. ~ Psyche! Learning to dance with fickle, rapid-fire-onset menopausal emotions, as well as the empty nest, was fickle, too. Our adult children were fleeing to marriage and long-distance moves. Learning a new relational dance with them required mental and emotional re-adjustments, too.
- What to do with a flourishing coiffure? Its wild and woolly nature has always been a struggle. “Let your hair grow longer,” implored one dear friend. So, it is longer and the hair straightener-turned-waver is my friend. ~ What to do with a flourishing, long-distance family, with grandchild number three, and the wild and woolly future? Both opportunities are intriguing, wavy ventures as well.
- And now, 9 undeserved-and-extra years later, stubborn, kinky gray hairs intersperse the natural brown. How much longer will I apply Clairol’s Nice & Easy? When will au naturale gray be accepted? ~ Nevertheless, I am infinitely agreeable to assuage disposition changes. And my family appears to be embracing the au naturale, genuine, authentic, possibly eccentric... 59-and-holding, me.
Even so, come, senior discount offers. ~ "Even so, come, Lord Jesus" (Revelations 22:20).
And, even so, (what else could I embrace but)... composing and composure.
