The Heist

For the past week I’ve been sporting my slowly growing “new do” all around town and it’s beginning to feel more comfortable, with only the occasional wide-eyed stares from little kids or the curious second glances from adults. But each week I brush out my wig and slip it on while I spend the afternoon with my Grandma who has mid-level Alzheimers.

Early on I had a heart felt conversation with her, but I’m fairly certain she has long forgotten that discussion, and it’s just easier to pretend that the wig is my natural hair than to go into the repeated details of my diagnosis, details that would only make her feel terrible that she could not remember.  Normally, I put on the wig when I leave the house, but today I wanted it off for as long as possible, so as I pulled up in front of her care home, I scanned the sidewalks for any pedestrians and then quickly slipped my wig on as if I was about to commit a grand bank heist.  I laughed out loud at how ridiculous this was looking.

Just as soon as my hair is long enough to look like an intentional style, I’ll ditch the wig all together and just tell her that I decided to do something radical for summer, but in the meantime, I’ll be donning my “mask” every Wednesday afternoon.

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