My husband has a beautiful, beautiful head of hair. He is well on his way to becoming a silver fox.
When I first learned that I had cancer again what I dreaded most was the possibility of chemo, but now that it is real, I'm okay with it.
I've been assured there's medicine to keep away the vomiting, I'm prepared to be tired and even the loss of hair seems not quite so bad since seeing my hospital mate's bald head.
I've pulled my hair back and I can live with hair not hiding my face.
When it grows back, I might even discover its true color. I suspect the front is white, the back is probably a light brown, a reverse skunk pattern.
Still I'm vain.
Today we looked in the window of the wig shop. It was closed but there are many that look promising.
What has this got to do with adoring my husband?
He offered to shave his head if it would make me feel better.
I said no, I love his hair. I want the pleasure of looking at it, but his offer was just one of a million reminders why I love him.