last October before I started chemo, I went out and purchased a wig. long, very close to my actual hair color, (let me re-phrase that, close to the color I was coloring my hair…) a straighter version of my hair. it was very pretty, I took it to my stylist and had him cut it on my head so it did not look so wig like. this was the same day he shaved my head. it was Halloween. every one in the salon had a wig on. interesting juxtapositions all around.
I took my hair home with me and put it out into my garden for the birds and squirrels to make nests with. put it back into the cycle.
I only ever wore my wig once. I went to see the dance group TMP, (who are based in my hometown…) with my daughter. we always dress up for the shows and I decided to wear my wig. it felt so utterly unnatural, I felt like someone in a witness relocation program. afraid I would be thrown to the floor and handcuffed, outed as an imposter. oddly enough, a friend I had not seen in a long time, came over and said, “I love your hair!” I laughed and told him it was a wig and he shook his head and said, “you are the second person I have said that to, and it turned out to be a wig. I need to stop saying that to people I guess.”
as soon as we got in the car, I took it off and haven’t worn it since.
I love my sleek head. but my hair is growing in quite quickly. dark and silver. I look like a silver back gorilla and it is soft as a mouse. this new emerging being, unfolding into the spring time. my birthday is in april. my new beginning.
yesterday was the first real warm spring time day and I went out into the yard and began raking, clipping, cleaning away the dead of winter. as I was raking, I found a clump of my hair, shining in the sunlight. made me smile to see this old part of me. I laid it on my goddess statue that is in the empty raised bed, an offering for the spring time. a reseeding of myself.
I can feel the pull of spring time and each day I feel stronger, more powerful, more healthy, more beautiful, more vibrant. another planting season. another day. another breath. thank you.
by anne cirillio