Two years ago I, along with other women, friends, bore witness to a dear friend shaving her head before commencing chemo. This act of control was done with her daughter and became ceremony. Ritual. It became something sacred.
My beautiful friend traversed the terrain of her cancer treatment with incredible courage and grace. I remain in awe of her.
On the day of the hair, I wrote a poem when I got back home, and sent it to her. This weekend, a little over two years since that day, she sent me a photo of it framed and said it was in her hallway. And again I am deeply moved.
She gave me permission to share it with you here. I share it for all those who have felt the burr of clippers on scalp. And for those of us whose time will also come one day.
The Gathering of Things
Poignant,
The tremble, the hair
falling.
Tears.
Women who have been there too.
And those who haven't.
A hand held,
Mother
Daughter.
Tender silence broken only by
whirr of clippers.
Solemn ritual, sacred is this letting go
and bringing in of things.
Beauty of bones revealed
Hands on head as the
women stand with hands on hearts.
Blue eyes
Stained red as
we women gather
witness to initiation and challenge,
to a key placed in a new door
opening.
For everything gained something is lost,
locks swept and kept, gathered
to be woven into stories
when the women have gone
and the whispers of their love remains.
Georgina Langdale
30 October 2022.
