The two hurricanes that recently stormed through our city happened to coincide with my chemo weeks.  The wind and rain of today’s was particularly violent, howling through our walls and beating off a good amount of leaves from our trees, speeding up the foliage fall.  I had a front-row view of it all, laying in bed as I stared out my rain-pelted window.  

I took a shower tonight. I hardly ever wash my hair anymore and I can’t stand how dirty hair feels.  I close my eyes when I wash my hair now but can’t escape the feeling of it stuck all over my body, long fallen strands clinging everywhere, refusing to let go.  I keep my eyes closed and try to wipe off or stick what I can onto the shower wall.  It’s a habit I’ve had for forever, one that hubs finds particularly annoying.

But not these days.  He quietly cleans the heavy webs of hair without a word.

It feels like a mess, all this. Like my own little hurricane within me; my hair slipping away under the shower head like the leaves that were pelted off the branches outside my window.  I can think of several lines of optimism and hope that I can end these thoughts with, but.  Not tonight. Tonight, to the sound of drizzling rain, my damp head of hair now clinging across my freshly changed pillowcase–I simply mourn.