Benjamin S. Grossberg’s poem “The Hairdresser” [July 2020] made me think of my mom, who passed away last year at the age of eighty-nine. Two months before she died, I took her on her last trip to her hairdresser, Darlene.
Since my mom had lost her independence and was at an assisted-living facility, the weekly trip to the hairdresser had become a focal point on her calendar. And even though my mom was not one to talk much about personal issues, Darlene had become an important confidante.
Although my mom’s hair was wispy, Darlene was able to puff it up, and she left with some sense of normality in her life.