In the Best Hands

Thursday, I had a hint of what was coming.  Friday, I knew.  It was expected, and I had hoped to be spared.  I wasn’t.  I am used to hair shedding, we usually shed about 200 hairs daily.  Since I untwist weekly, that’s a lot of hair coming out.  This was different, I was pulling out long pieces by the root.

I untwisted my hair for the last time.  Friday, my hair was curly, long and flowing.  What to do now?  Who do I call?  My niece, hair stylist Kadijah Akbar. Sat. morning, I was sitting in her chair, waiting for her to do what I couldn’t bear to do. 

Kadijah’s hands are tender, she combed and combed and combed.  She was the professional stylist and for that visit, I needed the stylist.  She never once said or did anything to let me know most of my hair was ending up in the trash can. (There’s a trash can in the salon looking like Cousin It from the “Adam’s Family”.) I didn’t ask to look.  I wanted time to accept what was happening.

Combing, cutting, coloring, washing and pressing, all without giving me any clue about what was left.  I trusted her judgement and she worked wonders with the few strands left.  A three-year-old little girl that saw me earlier said “You look bald headed.”  Truth out of the mouth of a babe.  “I am almost bald headed.”  Yes, I am.

Right now, I’m alright with it.  Sharing the experience with my niece made all the difference.  I was surrounded by her love and when I need her professionalism, it was there.  When I needed my niece, she was there.

 I am so proud of her.  I was in the best hands.