Silver Fox

There has been just the one time in my life when I came close to having all of my hair cut off. I was eight or nine, spending the summer in Nazareth House in Northampton. It was  an orphanage run by Roman Catholic nuns. It was not long after my father died. My mother was ill and no relatives stepped forward to take on six children.

We had two spells there. The first time we were lauded as a wonderful collection of siblings because we looked out for one another. This was not a good thing. We were strangers. We did not fit in and we didn’t need to be singled out like that. Making friends was all but impossible.  The second time we were there, we caught head lice. All that was missing from the dresses and ribbons was a bell around our necks and the mournful cry of ‘Unclean!’. We spent a large amount of time heads hanging over a sink while a nit-comb was dragged through our hair. This was not good either. Lepers might have been accorded more sympathy. This was in the days when it was presumed that nits preferred dirty hair so we got the label and were isolated from the herd. There was talk of cutting hair to make it easier to catch the lice. My mother objected to the proposal, dragged herself off the sick bed and we went home to nit-shampoo and a much gentler use of the nit-comb. The hair stayed, the nits left and life went on.

Keep that in mind as I move on.

I am reading my way through a poetry book as part of my Lent devotions – ‘Word in the Wilderness’ by Malcolm Guite. It is not my first journey through the book. He selects poems, his own sonnets and the poems of other writers to draw out insight. Today’s poem, which I read yesterday, was R. S. Thomas’ ‘The Bright Field’. It begins…

I have seen the sun break through

to illuminate a small field

for a while, and gone my way

and forgotten it. But that was the pearl

of great price, the one field that had

treasure in it…

The parable of The Great Pearl and the ‘Hidden Treasure in the Field’ are about the Kingdom of God and what people are prepared to give up to possess them. Thomas admits to seeing the sun break through on the field but moves on and forgets about it. He walked away from both treasure and pearl.

Back to the hair.

Cancer and chemotherapy are thieves. They steal.  Three sessions into chemotherapy saw my hair begin to fall out. I have always thought my hair was one of my best features. It was thick., it was shiny. And up until it turned grey, it was a rich shade of dark brown. All that changed. It became thin and fragile and handfuls came off daily. I walked abut with a cloud of disconnected hair that draped over chairs and sofas and settled on cups and dinner plates. My scalp was sore and everything itched.

I made an appointment yesterday to get measured for a wig. It is later on in the week, but I asked if there might be someone who would razor-buzz what was still there. I wasn’t ready for a shaved head. A young lad was given the task.

It was the main salon, not a quiet side room, and all the other ladies were being coloured, curled and crimped and my hair was bring buzzed away, a number 2.The young man was gentle. He kept up a monologue as he worked, combing and buzzing. White strands floated to the floor. I saw it as a practical move. The hair was going anyway.

The job was done. He said it suited me, this white Brillo-pad look. He smilingly called me a silver fox. There was a brushing off of excess hair, a mirror tilted so I could see the back of my head – no offer of hairspray. There was no charge and I collected my coat.

‘Can I give you a hug?’ he asked quietly.

I hadn’t planned on crying, but head resting on his shoulder, arms encircling me gently, I burst into tears. I chastised myself  and felt foolish. I’d missed a bus home by minutes and went to a café for a cup of camomile tea, my go-to brew when I am distressed.

I stared into the mug, quietly wiping tears I hoped no one would see and thought again how foolish and pointless the tears were.

And then came my ‘bright field’ moment.

‘Oh, Mel,’ said God softly to my heart, ‘you missed the treasure. You did not spot the pearl.’

The hug. There had been a taking away of the hair, the acknowledgment of the damage chemotherapy does. But in the hug was a giving back, an invitation to cry, compassion shown and the name Siver Fox being given. I had overlooked it all in my need to escape embarrassment. Just for an instant the hug was like the sun breaking through on the small field, a moment of beauty. I took a while to appreciate the treasure and the pearl.

Life is full of dark moments. Everybody’s life. But in among the dark moments there are the sunlight moments too. An unexpected smile, a hand being squeezed, a hug – they may not last long, but they are there. Sometimes we are the ones called to be that moment of sunlight and we have no idea how much it is a needed moment. It might not be noticed by the person who is supposed to see it, but if it is not there it certainly won’t be.

Be sunlight in someone’s darkness.

Be treasure in their field.

Be the pearl.

Just for one short moment.