On Death and Heaven

My daughter is very curious. She's been asking me questions since she could talk, but lately, these questions have gotten more real and the topics have become more serious. One morning on the way to school, she blindsided me with a very loaded question.

When I die, will I go to heaven and see Jesus? I told her yes. We've had the conversation before on why heaven is special and what it takes to go to heaven. She continued:

Will you die before me? Yes, I will. I hope so. 

Will I die before you? No, you won't. 

After you die, and then Tristan and I die, we will go find you in heaven. She made it sound like such a matter-of-fact order of events that would happen. She also made it sound like it would happen instantly, like we would all die together and find each other in heaven. 

The bond these two share is quite something. 

I kept my answers short. There wasn't any way I could elaborate more and enunciate my answers aloud while driving my children to school. There were silent tears streaming down my face. 

During these moments, I have to remind myself that my children don't see things the way I do. They don't attach emotions to situations the way I do because they haven't reached that point in maturity or development. They ask questions as questions to ask. The unfortunate part is it triggers so many emotions within myself regarding my experiences, my past, and the future I hope my children do not have to experience. 

***

Within the same week, we had another conversation on the way to school. I took a different route than usual because of changing traffic patterns. We passed a cemetery.

Mommy, is this where dead people are? Yes.

Where are they? They're buried under the ground.

How? You have to dig holes.

Oh.

And as abruptly as the conversation started, it ended. What my daughter doesn't know is that I know someone buried at that cemetery. And one of these days, I need to go and see her.

I want to answer her questions truthfully and I want her to continue asking me questions like this for the rest of her life. But they will always hold a weight for me that she can't see. These are the moments I never anticipated or planned for, but I am now discovering and accepting as they come. I always knew my life would be a little harder than most. But I didn't actually know how hard it could be. Until now. 

Two Decades of Grey: Grade School

When I was in kindergarten, my mother was in her early 40s. She was considered one of the older parents of that generation. She also had a very even sprinkle of salt and pepper grey hair. I have memories of her coloring it occasionally, but she wasn't diligent about it, and I don't think she wanted to be. I have a clear memory of a boy in my kindergarten class asking me if the woman picking me up was my grandmother. That was the first negative impression left on me regarding grey hair. I knew my mother had grey hair, and I knew it wasn't her original hair color. I'm not saying natural because natural changes...it's whatever grows out of your head. And I was intuitive enough to understand that visual greys led someone to think you were older than you actually were. This is one of the earliest moments where I planted an idea in my head: I wanted to have kids early. Mentally, I didn't want to be the mother of a kindergartener and being mistaken for her grandmother. 

I know he didn't mean anything by asking me that - it's an innocent question trying to clarify a potential confusion. But I also know as a young child myself, it left an impression, one that still trails me in my shadows. I see it first-hand now in my own kindergartener. She surprises me daily with the questions she asks me and random conversations we have.

***

I was in grade school when my mother found my first grey hair. I remember it as being 4th grade. My mother had just been diagnosed with cancer within the last year. She saw it one afternoon and said with a sad voice, "You have a grey hair already." Her words held the weight of someone who walked the exact same path - she indeed had. I still have a fear I will be in her shoes from the other side. 

Besides this memory, I don't actually recall my mother commenting on my grey hair for the rest of her life. Maybe she didn't because she knew what it was like to be the young girl with premature grey hairs. Maybe she didn't because she was busy researching and finding the best doctors to consult to help her fight for her life. Maybe she didn't because she didn't care, and there were only a few - literally, countable on one hand at the time. I think this has been a secret blessing because if I remember my mother commenting on this, it would have tainted our relationship even more. So I'm glad she didn't, or I'm glad I don't remember. 

***

Sometime in the last ten years, it hit me that my mother had youthful skin. Even despite losing her hair due to all the treatments she was undergoing, her face looked young. I remember taking one of the last photos I remember with her on my 11th birthday. And for the longest time, it was very hard for me to look at the photo because all I saw were the effects of the cancer, the chemo, the radiation, and I didn't see the mother I knew as a child. 

That's actually not the last photo we have together. I found one from the summer I won grand prize at a piano competition. It was two years before she died. She'd lost even more hair. But she was happy, and she was next to me. Her face is so cute. 

I used to be ashamed of these photos. I didn't want to see my mother in photos because it solidified the horrors and the fears of what she experienced. It made my own trauma and scars that much more real. But I cherish these now. 

I miss the girl in these pictures. She was young, naive in the right ways, and simple. It's sad how with wisdom and knowledge come a layer of heaviness and burden. 

That was middle school. 

Child Logic

I didn't get to enjoy my daughter when she was three years old. Unfortunately (or fortunately) I had a one year old also, so life was very busy. I don't remember if she did cute, quirky things. She probably did. She probably also had the unreasonable toddler logic which all parents experience at some point or another. 

Now that my youngest is three, I've had the time and energy to pay attention to him and notice all of his quirks and complications, both cute and annoying. I do enjoy the time when I get to take him around with me by himself and although it's not intentional one on one time, I do enjoy it differently than taking both my children out. 

Last week, we had finished our homework time in the car and big sister was in school. He and I went to get gas for the car and then I asked him where he wanted to go. His choices were Lowe's or Walmart. He giggled from the backseat and mumbled something, but he didn't really give me an answer. So I kept driving. Both locations were pretty close to each other. When I was nearing a fork in the directions, I asked him again where he wanted to go. Again, he giggled and mumbled something I couldn't make out. I told him I would decide and made the executive decision to go to Lowe's.

Now, it's January. It's not planting season. We didn't need anything from Lowe's. But I chose Lowe's anyway because it had been a while since I'd gone. Also, their restrooms are cleaner and the stalls are larger. One of the things we do while waiting to pick up his sister is find a place for both of us to use the restroom. Small perk and hassle of being potty trained, but I'll take it. So Lowe's it was. 

I pulled into the parking lot, parked the car, and opened his door. Immediately, I saw he was about to lose it:frowny mouth, sad eyes, with that I'm-about-to-burst-out-crying face. I asked him what was wrong, and asked him if he didn't want to go to Lowe's. He shook his head. I sighed and told him we'd go to Walmart. It was not worth a fit over literally nothing. So I got back in the car, left the Lowe's parking lot, and was on my way to Walmart. 

About halfway there, a couple minutes after we'd left Lowe's, I saw he had calmed down and was in a better mood. I asked him, "Why didn't you want to go to Lowe's?"

You know what he told me? He didn't want to see the spooky. The. Spooky. That wasn't even at Lowe's anymore because it was January and Halloween was long over. 

The spooky at Lowe's when they actually had it set up.
One of my children loves the spooky and the other doesn't care for it. 

I was relieved he had given me a reason why he didn't want to go to Lowe's, but I was also internally face-palming at his logic. After we'd parked at Walmart, I told him that the spooky was no longer at Lowe's and they'd put it away. I asked him if we could go to Lowe's next time. He nodded his head. Then we headed into Walmart for our normal routine of hitting up the potty and the clearance aisle together. 

Two Decades of Grey: Intro

At the end of last year, my dad said the most real sentence he's said to me in person in a long, long time. 

Wow, you have grey hair.

We were leaving his house after I'd brought the kids over to visit. It was a rainy day so he was holding an umbrella over me as I buckled my children in. For the extended amount of time it took for me to secure my children into the car and for the closeness of our proximity due to holding an umbrella over both of us, my dad noticed. 

On the drive home, I cried. I didn't cry because he noticed my grey hair. I've noticed it myself for decades. I was crying because he didn't remember or he didn't remember to the extent I wished he would have. Because you know what? I showed it to him nearly 20 years ago, and he shrugged it off. 

I was about 14 years old. I couldn't drive myself yet. Somehow, I made the decision to ask my dad a question that evening. I went up to him in the kitchen, the west side of the room. I remember our positions almost exactly. My dad's back was toward our second refrigerator facing me. I was standing next to the corner of our kitchen island facing the breakfast table, adjacent to him. It was evening time, dark outside. The Tiffany chandelier above our breakfast table lit the room with a yellow glow. I went up to him and said something along the lines of, "Daddy, I have grey hair. Can I dye it?" 

He responded, "You have grey hair? I don't see any." I lifted the top half of my hair to reveal where the majority of it was. He took a quick look and shrugged it off. "Oh, that's not that much. Hair dye can irritate your scalp and make you itchy, You don't need it." Little did he know the things my friends said to me at school or how self-conscious I was.

After that, I made a mental note not to share things like this with my dad. I felt so unheard and ignored in that moment. I knew when I could get myself to the store without him, I was going to buy my own hair dye, and that's exactly what I did. I started coloring my own hair in the summer of 2006. 

***

The last time I dyed my hair was December 2022. It wasn't a conscious choice to stop, but I'd already reached a point where I wasn't dyeing it consistently anymore. Maybe only 2-3 times a year. Around the time I would have dyed it, I started having some health problems. And somehow between life and the way I was feeling, I decided I would not continue to dye it. If I didn't feel this way, I would continue to color my hair, but I'm secretly lazy. So these two sides of me have been fighting each other. It's been almost 13 months, the longest I've ever gone without hair dye in almost 18 years. 

I told myself I wanted to write a series about my experiences and memories with regard to my hair. A lot of them are painful. A lot of them are filled with bitterness and anger. But I want to share it because it is a part of who I am today. And I don't know who needs to read and know about it, but someone might. Why else would women join the silver sisters movement on social media? They want to know they're not alone. 

That's something I've had to come to terms with before I could comfortably do this. Because all my life, I was feeding myself emotional lies based on real life experiences: Your grey hair is weird. You're a grandma! Grey hair is disgusting. What's wrong with you? You're so old. It looks really bad. It would look much better colored. Oh, wow, that's a lot of grey. 

I can't even write out these phrases without getting emotional because they're so deeply rooted with individual experiences I've had throughout the last 20 years and they resonate with statements people have said to me. But I picked this year as the year to tell my story and share all the memories I've buried and hidden for two decades. My dad's statement hurt because it took him two decades to understand what I was feeling as a teenager. But I'm not 14 anymore. 

So in this series, I want to take you through these 20 years with me and discover the experiences, the memories, and the unexpected encouragements along the way. 

Beads

My daughter requested a bead kit for Christmas. I was slightly hesitant at first because these bead kits get pricey! Not only the cost, but I was not mentally ready to deal with having loose beads all over the house if she spilled it. We'd already dealt with Legos, scraps of cut paper, paper stars, play money coins, puzzle pieces, foam letter stickers, colored pencils, crayons, magnatiles, mini figures, toy cars, play gemstones, Cheerios, and probably more categories of tiny toys and food I've failed to mention. I did not want to add beads to that list.

Well, I ended up taking her to the store and she looked at a bunch and told me which ones she didn't want and which ones she wanted. I took some pictures, went home, and looked online again to find one to closely match her pre-approved selections from the store. In the end, the one I purchased was not "pre-approved" but I think she was going to enjoy it. 

The package arrived, and it was much smaller than I anticipated. I was very tempted to open it up and look, but I had to save it for Christmas. So I wrapped it up, put it under the tree, and was glad I had an extra long return window with the holiday season. 

She opened it early because we let the kids open some presents before Christmas. She loved it! I know my daughter after all. And she's aligned her heart with the things the child inside of me loves (not intentionally!), so it's pretty easy to shop for her. 😝

She wanted to make bracelets immediately, but I told her to wait a few days. She didn't even try to object and waited patiently for the day she could make bracelets, another cue that I've been blessed with very special children. 

When we sat down to make bracelets together, she had so much fun. She wanted to make one for all her friends at school, family members, and even one for her piano teacher! As I watched her make these bracelets, the little girl inside of me really wanted to make one myself.

So I did!

M💗MMY

It was so much fun making bracelets with my daughter. I was even able to repair a bracelet I bought in high school which had broken in the last five years because the elastic was too old. 

These loose beads were hanging out on the bathroom
counter at my dad's house for the last few years.

Slowly restringing them.

Good as new!

I spent $3.50 on this bracelet in high school and it's not worth much at all, but being able to fix it instead of throw it away was very satisfying. What started out as a one bead kit actually turned into three, but I have been able to partake in the joy and enjoyment of her gift as well. Perhaps I should oblige her wishes more often. 😁 and I've only dealt with a "couple" beads on the floor.