Think about hair for a moment. We wash it. We brush it. We style it. We comb it. We pull it up in a ponytail or hide it under a ball cap. How many times a day do you have to brush your bangs from your eyes? We do it mindlessly. And at the end of the day, some of us take our hair down. Perhaps brush it again just before going to bed.
Now think about not being able to do any of that.
As I readied the Queen for bed tonight, we were going through her nightly ritual. Hands washed. Pajamas on after a slathering of “sleepy” lotion. Two pair of socks–“peh” as she calls them–the bottom layer are cotton, the top are fuzzy. She rubs her pointer finger across her teeth. “No, I’ve not forgotten,” I tell her, as I retrieve her toothbrush. After I brush her teeth and get her a drink of water, I get the hairbrush out of the cabinet.
She’s sitting on the side of her bed now, legs swinging, head down so she can look into her Meer and check her “pearly whites” as I call them.
And I begin to brush her hair.
She doesn’t look up. Instead, she watches me through the Meer, and I see her noticing her hair. It’s particularly shiny tonight, and I’m surprised by how the single light bulb in her ceiling light creates the look of spun gold in her strands.
I make sure her hair isn’t tucked into the collar of her shirt–and I keep brushing. Her legs swinging.
I take my time. Make sure to get from forehead to nape. Temples. Then back again. I lean in and sniff deeply, and am reminded by the citrus-scent that I used extra conditioner during her spa bath. Hence the shine.
Her legs stop swinging. She holds the Meer up and looks at me through it. “Ah na na,” she says. “I love you, too, Punkin.”
“Pretty” she signs, as she looks at her hair. “Yes, your hair is beautiful.”
A giant yawn nearly makes her face disappear and she lies back. I sideways kiss the dip above the bridge of her nose between her eyebrows, & tell her goodnight. I’m humbled. I’m thankful. Those small things that we take for granted, that we do without thinking, my sweet girl can’t do for herself. But I can for her.
And so I do.