A little late for Mother’s Day, but, oh well..
My Daughters’ Hair:
I stand next to my daughters, and I play with their flaxen hair.
I brush it, pick it, comb it, and I run my fingers through its silky mane. I caress the curls and I envy the color. I pull it back and up, and I watch their faces in the bathroom mirror. I mark the expressions, both good and bad.
I watch their eyebrows lift or knit, their eyes grow wide or shut, depending on the hairs’ need for attention that day. I listen to their sounds; their moans, their sighs, their laughter or tears; the outward expressions of their inner thoughts.
I marvel at their sense of being, at the beauty of their youth. The soft, vibrant color of their hair, the smooth firmness of their skin; as their little girl auras melt away and are miraculously replaced with the hidden subtleties of womanhood.
I am reminded of the Circle of Life and the greater picture of it all. How each phase presents itself to you, as you weave your way daily through it. How change and maturity are impossible to ignore, and therefore, should never be scorned or taken for granted.
Life is a continuum, a gift that slowly evolves and grants us never as much time as we think we need. I do hope that the diagnosis today will be clear, and nothing that marks the final blow, or ends my book too many chapters short of a full novel.
In times like these, my grandmother is missed more often than not.