The beauty of a bald head

A community bus trip

We were on a community bus trip down to the basketball in Invercargill last night and I was sitting behind a gentleman with a balding head and a flood of wonderful memories came back to me. In my living memory dad had always been bald.  Mainly on the top of his head and towards the back.  I can remember as a child spraying and rubbing in a new “wonder product” into his head that was meant to aid in regrowing his hair back.  He was a proud (I’m not going to say vain) and handsome man and as girls and his daughters we willingly took care of his appearances.

Hairy ears

In a different part of the bus I saw another gentleman with hair coming out of his ears and when I see this I am slightly horrified. Why isn’t someone in his whānau keeping these hairy beasts under control and tidy? Yep you guessed it – we plucked dads ears, we trimmed his eyebrows and we plucked the hairs that grew on the top of his nose as well. Writing this I realise it may gross many of you out but for me, it’s a monkey grooming gene that comes so naturally that I find it odd if people don’t do it.  

A scalping

Dad was always hitting and banging his head which left it heavily scarred.  The worst head injury and largest scar he had was when he fell off a horse drawn sulky and nearly scalped himself. I remember racing down to the hospital and to the horror of two of his very protective, loving sisters we literally laughed when we saw him in A & E and realised once again he had damaged his head. He had recently had a heart attack and we thought another one had occurred so a scalping seemed quite minor to us. Rawleigh’s  ointment was a staple in our home. I have this vivid memory of Dad’s big building fingers digging into the ointment at the end of the day and rubbing it into his latest head injury. 

It’s the little things

It’s the funny little things you miss and remember about those who have passed that we love. I miss my sister Toni’s funny sense of humour and words of wisdom. She loved giving dad silly gifts. Two I remember in particular. The first a pair of hairy, orange moster slippers and the second a Winston Peters squeaky dog toy. Dad was a Winnie fan. When Toni was alive we would talk for hours on the phone about parenting, relationships and life in general. I miss her so much but I know she would not want any of us to be sad.  She would want and expect us to keep on living our lives to the fullest and to follow our dreams.

Are the good ones taken too soon?

I often say to myself and out loud to anyone who will listen that this life isn’t a dress rehearsal and nowhere is it written that we are all going to live until we are 90 years old.  Life doesn’t work like that.  It feels like often the “good” ones are taken too soon when they seem to still have so much to give. I’ve learnt that you never stop missing those who have passed but that the dark fog of grief does lift and eventually clear.  It clears enough to remember the fun times; the silly times; the giggles and the rubbing of magical lotions into a balding head over 40 years ago. 

Every day is special

Each day I wear my “good” perfume.  I don’t save it anymore for a special occasion because every single day, with its everyday nuances is special.  That’s what life is – a combination of tiny little moments that if we remain present enough we get to recognise the gift in them.

Aroha nui

Kim

PS If your grief fog hasn’t lifted and you are having trouble getting through the death of a loved one (be they 2 legged, 4 legged or feathered) please seek help. Texting 1737 is a wonderful place to start.