After his haircut,
young man stepped behind my chair and, without saying a word, hugged me. I must say, in all humility, it was a great haircut. It wasn’t haircut, though, that brought about hug. It was result of a bond we had established during haircut.While cutting his hair, I mentioned that I had recently, and unexpectedly, lost my mom. She would have been 75 in July. She had only had two surgeries in her life and had enjoyed good health and independence.
One day, while visiting with her, she mentioned to me that she was having some problems. A subsequent doctor’s visit indicated she needed a hysterectomy. It seemed simple enough. She would have surgery and be up and about in no time.
It was not to be. In a month cancer metastasized, apparently from her uterus, to her abdomen and lungs and she was gone. I still can’t believe it.
As I shared these things with my customer, he told me of his mother’s bout with cancer. Though her illness was much longer, it too had been fatal. I knew all that he was telling me, having heard it at time from him and his father. This time it had new meaning. Though I felt for both of them before, on this occasion my feelings were deeper and more sympathetic. I KNEW how he felt.
I told him that I had urge to call Mom every day, just as I was accustomed to doing. That, while planning her funeral, I thought, “Maybe I should call Mom and see what she thinks about this list of pallbearers.” Then I caught myself.
In her novel, “Five Smooth Stones,” one of Ann Fairbairn’s characters speaks of such impulses concerning his departed mother, “My mother died ten years ago, but it still happens to me. The people we love never really leave us.”
