goodbye practice day 4: hair combing

i combed her hair today. 

i didnt realize how much quiet joy it brought her.
probably because i never have to comb my hair since 2000-01.
i chopped it all off at once.
she kept saying 'your arms are going to get tired.'
i kept saying 'im counting.'

one. two. three. four.
then i would forget what number im to be on. so we stayed on doing that for awhile.

see, my memorable childhood hair moments were rather hysterical. 

there were times where someone (mom or granny, doesnt matter, they were in this together), brought me to a local hair place, and they permed my hair to michael jackson curls- looking very much like a joke. that was something that i tried to protest actively and futilely. 

then there were times where my hair was being braided by someone angry (as 'she' would be behind me, i cant remember who it wouldve been- may be both HA HA HA)- so french braid being done, the comb. digging. into. head. every. stroke. tears. welled. up.  

there were a few bowl cuts, or cuts that just got shorter and shorter as time went on.
granny apologized a few times, i think. 
well, not much anyone can do at that point though. it just needs growing out.

i mustve combed her hair a thousand times today.
or just merely about a hundred times.
i have no clue.

just like the way that this week is disintegrating in 'timeline,' my obsessive counting is also being defeated by the soft-edged present.

time is melting. 
stardust in making.

tomorrow, i am planning to comb her hair again.
perhaps another 'hundred' times. 
may be bring a fresh pine branch as well. 
bringing the outside, of the past, to inside. 
to feathery lady who is fading. gently. hair so soft and fine.

*
we also brought some more flowers, 
from re-cutting and rearranging the flowers. 
may be some more flowers tomorrow too.
they are blooming here at my home.
like memories buds.

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