We all just want to feel seen and held.
my phone reminded me of a memory from this time last year—my mom’s last haircut
As I snapped a picture of the sunrise this morning, my phone reminded me of a memory from this time last year—my mom’s last haircut.
My mom never really treated herself to things, especially a salon color. In endearing fashion, my dad was her colorist and the kitchen sink was his shampoo bowl.
As her body rapidly fell apart she could no longer reach her hair to brush it. My dad wasn’t there to color it anymore either. It was just me and I watched it grow long and grey from December to April. Sure, I could’ve colored her hair, but my family wasn’t the touchy type. I was already up close and personal with more aspects of my mother than I ever wanted to be. In addition, I also require extensive assistance with my own hair. That’s how my hairdresser Melissa turned into a good friend. I do what she says, and I look and feel good.
There were moments last year when I didn’t think my mom would be alive in April but when she opted to get a feeding tube placed at the end of March, she greeted April with a little more energy and personality. It was then that I sent an SOS text to Melissa. I needed my mom to feel beautiful again, if only for a short time.
Like anything with ALS, getting my mom into the car was an ordeal, but despite Melissa’s offering of coming to the house and my mom’s homebody tendencies, she wanted to go to the salon. Melissa came in on her day off and so it was the 3 of us in the empty salon with some music and laughs. It was one of the few moments I had as a caretaker when I felt like I had done something to contribute to my mom’s fleeting quality of life.
It was also during this moment that I saw the power of human touch, love, and decency. When I washed my mom’s hair, it was awkward and uncomfortable. When I brushed it for her, it often dissolved into an argument. She was non-verbal and I almost always misinterpreted what hairstyle her gestures and grunts were articulating. When Melissa washed my mom’s hair there was an audible sigh of relaxation and ease—an elusive feeling, one I hadn’t heard my mom make when she was under my care. My mom looked at us both with freshly washed hair and tears streaming down her face, and the 3 of us could’ve filled the shampoo bowl with salt water.
Melissa made my mom feel seen, loved, and human that day. She did this not by showering her with material things or finding a cure for ALS but by simply allowing my mom to see herself as more than ALS for a little bit. Melissa shared her talents, heart, and understanding that meaningful human connection can happen in a shampoo bowl without words being exchanged.
We all just want to feel seen and held.
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Love this, what a beautiful memory! And kudos to Melissa for making your Mom feel special that day!🥰
You made my heart grow big. Good job daughter!