I gave myself a haircut at home this week. Well maybe it’s not exactly heroic to get a haircut but it took a lot of courage to do it. Not because I might miss a spot or screw up and shave a line across my head but because I had to do it myself. It’s been over 2 years since Clayton gave me a haircut. I haven’t dug those clippers out of the drawer since he used them. Would they even turn on or have they passed like he did? For a moment I feared that they wouldn’t come to life and the grief of Tin’s passing began to rise. I almost put them down and walked away. A deep breath and I flipped the switch. The room was full of that familiar buzzing.
I love that sound and I love having my hair cut. It’s like a mini vacation. A massage. Nowadays I usually go to a place and have it done. Surrounded by other people and activity that keep me in the present. Not here though. I’m home alone without Clayton. He’s not here to wrap the towel around my neck, kiss my head and take care of me. Now that the world is closed, I have two options:
- Put the clippers down because I just can’t navigate the memories. This option means I keep feeling un-kept and that adds just as much to the grief.
- Go for it because if I don’t do it now I might never have the opportunity and the courage to make it through this milestone.
I stopped thinking and I ran the trimmers across the side of my head. In that moment, I climbed higher than I thought I could. I beat the grief and I committed to care for myself. The more hair that fell the lighter the moment became. I was doing it. I was able to manage the memories. The feeling of the buzzer reminded me of his silly stories when he cut my hair. It reminded me of how it felt when he bent my ears to buzz around them and than I realized that I was smiling…