There is this way that my mother combs my hair after I have had a breakdown that assures me that everything will be okay. It’s deliberate and meditative, the way she breaks the knots and goes from the scalp to the ends in one gentle swift motion, pushes my hair around my ears and the asks “high or low?”, “loose or tight?”, and inevitably gives me her hair tie. I hold on to this hair tie like my life depends on it, maybe it does. I get worried every time I cannot place it around my wrist or on the bathroom tap. The hair tie has gathered all her love and placed it at the nape of my neck, it holds everything together.
There have been times of distress where I have seen my grandmother do they exact same thing, gently combing my mothers hair and in some occasions mine. The deliberate movement followed by a pat on the back and kiss on the cheek when it is done. I wonder if her mother did the same for her. I hope I can pass this on to someone I love in the future without making a big fuss about it.
These days, when I sit alone in my apartment with my thoughts racing, I comb my hair, gently, sending reminders to myself that when all else fails, comb your hair, tie it up and get to work, peace will follow.
