An issue of the head.

I'm working through a head ache today.

Today marks a momentous occasion. I got my hair cut this morning, and the part of my hair that was shaved during brain surgery has finally grown out to meet the rest of my hair. I cut about 2 inches off my hair, and for the first time in more than 18 months, the bottom layer of my hair is all one length. This is both exciting and sad, the shorter hair was a reminder of just how hard that time was. The fact that it has now grown out signifies the amount of work that has gone into recovering all that fell apart during that time, and I know where all that hair has been.

Several poignant experiences remain etched on my heart from that time. The first night I was home from the hospital, I took a bath. I knew I was going to be sick, but I didn't have the strength to get out of the tub. I let the water out, and sat puking between my legs in an empty bath tub, all the while my sweet mother sat on the floor next to the tub and rubbed my back. She didn't say anything, just sat and let me know she was there. I can only imagine the pain that she felt, sitting helpless beside me.

Another significant moment during recovery was one evening, my dad sat on the end of my bed reading me a short book by Leo Tolstoy called What Men Live By. I was very sick during this time as well, and my dad sat patiently wait while I threw up into the pink kidney shaped container from the hospital. He would wait until I was at rest again, and then continue reading. This went on for a few hours, all the while he sat to read to me and comfort me and take my mind off the pain. In the last chapter of this story is the important point that made this time memorable: "I have learnt that all men live not by care for themselves but by love."

My brain surgery was the first time in my life that I saw the unending capacity of charitable service from my family and friends. I was overwhelmed by the outpouring of love. There were many who contributed financially, people who came to help me with my baby, people who sent notes and letters offering their support. What an unbelievable experience. What an unbelievable network of compassion I am in.

It took months to heal physically, and even longer to heal mentally and emotionally. It felt heavy to carry the trauma of such an event. This last token, my hair, seems silly and trite when I actually read through what I've written, but it feels so significant to be rid of the final evidence.