Most women and some men too, have a "thing" about their hair. I will generalize here but for those of us who have curly hair, we wish it were straight. Women with straight hair, wish it were curly. Brunettes are certain blonds have more fun and some people say they would rather be "dead than red on the head". My point is, a lot of attention is paid to our hair.
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| He ain't heavy, he's my brother |
I have never been one to make a "statement" with my hair. I never colored it any crazy color just because I could. I think the most radical thing I ever did was squeeze lemon juice on it during the summer to see if it could bring out any of my naturally lighter highlights. I have always been a brunette with curly hair that wished I could have raven hair like snow white, preferably straight. With all that being said, I did not want that color to come out of a bottle. I was fearful of the botched job that could result and let's face it, coming from where I was at, it certainly wouldn't look natural. As I have matured (faced gray) I have embraced highlighting and low light techniques seasonally with no objection.
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| Irish twins |
My brother loved to make a statement with his hair. Nothing radical, he was more passive/aggressive. He would not shave his head or come out of the salon wearing a mohawk, nor would he dye his hair extreme colors. What he would do was start missing appointments. The first one or two, one might think he was busy, but by the third one, I would ask "so, Bubba, what's going on with your hair?" And because I was his person (reference Grey's Anatomy) he would tell me what he was mad about. And generally, he was pissed off at someone specific who hated long hair. He would vent and I would listen, because we each had our role. The length of his hair would be dependent upon the depth of his anger. Again, to the outside world, one would assume his hair choice was his style. To others, they might think he was going through a "phase". To me, I knew exactly what "phase" he was in. And quite frankly, if he wanted to manage his displeasure in this fashion, it was harmless....and it was his hair. His secrets remained safe with me.
When my brother died, everything was out of order. All of us lost our way and were left to figure out our new roles. There was no warning and for someone who likes order, it was very confusing. But in this case, there was nothing to be done, no waiting things out, no changing things up. It was simply time to face the new day and get on as best we could. We helped each other up as best we could and said and did all the "right" things, but it wasn't enough.
So I quit cutting my hair. And now I could make a statement. It was an ongoing protest that I waged war with every day. Of course, it was my own silent war. and it didn't change anything, but for someone who always needs to do something, it was enough.
Until the day came when I realized I would never be able to cut my hair....because it would never be enough. Now I had to reconcile that. My brother always reached a point when it would be enough. He reached resolution, he pissed someone off long enough (that could be my brother), but I was never going to be happy with this outcome. And now my hair was weighing heavy on me, much like my grief.
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| Return to curl |
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| Giving back - locks of love |
I can't give anything directly to my brother anymore - but I can do things for him. Yesterday I let go of my silent war and gave back - donating my hair in my brother's memory to locks of love. This 55th blog, published out of order is in honor and memory of my beloved brother on his birthday, January 25, 2015. He was pulled out of the procession to leave our world to go home when he was 55. #no coincidence.
Until next time,
#Heknowsourname
#Everythingisperfectinhistime
your favorite sister,
Kari
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