This was our week to read at church again, and I thought about this while I was shaving my head this morning. It is funny how women's hair is such a seemingly important part of their appearance. It's not enough that I shave my head -- I obsess over whether or not it looks perfectly even all over. Shaving takes almost as long as drying my wild blonde hair did.
I was saddened to see a woman (whose name I don't know) at church with a bandana on her head. I believe that she underwent chemotherapy last year, and only a few weeks ago, I'd seen her with curly brown hair. I'm afraid that she's had to take treatments again. Bernie was so tired that I didn't stay after Mass to find her and talk to her, but I think I have to do that next week if I see her. She hides her scalp and dresses plainly, like she's in hiding.
By comparison, I dressed in black wool trousers and blazer, with a silky black blouse, black leather boots, and a glittery black scarf, and big gold jewelry. Presto, shorn hair becomes exotic, and disfigurement, flash.
This lady at church is beautiful, she really is, even though she is ill. I wish that she would hold her head up proudly and challenge us all to look at the possibility of impending death, because Death will come for us all, sooner or later.
I want her to do that, because I want to be able to do that in my own time, as well.
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