Today, for the first time since last fall, I got my hot curlers out. I'd almost forgotten about them, but it occurred to me today that I had enough hair for my hot curlers again so I pulled them out and set the case on the vanity and opened it. I saw scads of brown hair around those curlers. I'd put them away when I realized that my hair was falling out. I remembered how I'd begun to hope against hope that maybe I was not going to lose my hair after all, because I'd had two chemos, and it was still holding fast, but then suddenly and all at once, I'd begun to lose it. I'd been dreading it but when it finally began to happen, it was not the blow that I thought it would be. I shaved my head on Thanksgiving Day because it was the sensible thing to do. I didn't want my hair falling out into the turkey or something revolting. I was very calm.
A year later, I studied my reflection, short gray hair. I looked at the curler in my hand and surprisingly, I found myself getting quite emotional about all those strands of hair. Strange, isn't it, that I should be so emotional, in retrospect, about something that I'd initially been so sensible and calm about?