I’m still adjusting to the end of my more-than-thirty-year-relationship with Kelly who started cutting my hair when she was eighteen. Having a new hairdresser who is less than forty-five minutes away is a good thing, but the downside is not having Kelly in my life.
My new hairdresser, Linda, and I still don’t have my hair quite right. But after three visits, we’re getting there. It takes time to develop a friendship too, especially with such a different person. Lebanese, lots of cussing, strong opinions, enormous breasts, each with its own name, so nice to the mailman who visited each time I’ve been in her shop. My neighbors who have been going to her for years love Linda, so I am hopeful that eventually I will too.
I sent Kelly a Christmas check last week, and from her thank-you email, I realized how well she knows me. Eight years ago, she was the first non-family member I told about Peter’s Parkinson’s Disease. Here is part of her email last week:
“I know the love you have for Peter is immeasurable. It's hard to imagine how much your life is affected and changing due to his Parkinson’s. I also know this has to tear you up, break your heart, frustrate and anger you, and for that I am sorry, and saddened.”
Kelly can see things about me that even I don’t see. She is a hard act to follow. She will always be my hairdresser in my heart.