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She’d cried when Jill had come home after dropping out of college and accruing so much debt she was still paying it back. Jill could still hear her mother saying,Oh my baby, look at you.
Jill hadn’t known then what her mother had seen, but she’d let her nurse her back to full health—mentally, spiritually, and physically.
“Mama,” she said, hurrying toward her. “What’s wrong?” She scanned her from head to foot, trying to find the root of her tears.
The last time Jill had seen her mother cry was the day she’d told McKenna, Haven, and Jill about the cancer. Their brother, Louis, had been on the computer, and Mama and Daddy had sat them all down at once to break the news.
That day, Jill had yelled at the Lord and tried to show Him that she could change the course of the tide with a few rocks.
She couldn’t, of course. No one could.
“Look at this picture,” Mama said, thrusting it toward Jill. “Look at my hair.”
Jill took the picture frame, because she had no other choice. Her mother’s hair flowed over her shoulders in soft waves, the color of fall grass that had turned brown and yellow. “It’s beautiful, Mama,” she said, lifting her eyes back to the scarf. “But your hair is beautiful now, too. Remember how you were going to do it all spunky and short?” She tried to smile, but the gesture wobbled on her face.
“It’s not beautiful,” Mama said, weeping. “It’s hideous.”
Jill’s pulse bounced in her neck. “Can I see, Mama?” She reached up as if she’d take the scarf off, moving slowly so her mother could stop her. She didn’t, and Jill gently pulled on the end of the scarf that was tucked in. It came loose in Jill’s hands, revealing her mother’s hair and scalp, and her eyes widened. “Oh, dear.”
Mama lifted her chin, her courage never-ending though tears tracked down her cheeks. “See?”
Jill could see. Mama’s hair had not grown in evenly. It was patchy at best, with some parts thick with hair and whole swatches with none at all. Some parts had hair growing close together, with plenty of space between each individual strand. It was darker in some places than others, and almost like peach fuzz in others.
She looked into her mother’s eyes. “It doesn’t matter. Who are you trying to impress? Mister Rogers?”
Mama smiled and laughed, because they both knew she didn’t care about impressing Daddy’s favorite horse. But the sound came out like a scoff and then a choke. Jill smiled too and took her mother into her arms. She’d never thought she was a very tall or very big woman, but her mother felt very slight in her embrace in that moment. For maybe the first time in her life, Jill felt strong enough to do what needed to be done.
“I hate it,” Mama said into Jill’s shoulder, her breath hot and her tears wet against her skin.
“I know you do, Mama,” Jill whispered. So much tore loose inside her, and for some reason, she seized onto a memory that floated near the front of her mind. “Remember when I got asked to the prom only four days before the dance?”
“Yes.”
“And you were mad, because that wasn’t enough time to get a proper dress, especially if it needed to be altered.” And everything Jill wore needed to be altered, especially fancy party dresses. Her torso was too short, and her legs too long. Her shoulders too bony, and her chest too big.
“So you made me wear one of Haven’s old dresses that you’d worked day and night to make fit, and I hated it. Like, Ihatedit.”
“I remember.” Mama stepped back and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry I made you wear that dress.” Fresh tears leaked out of her eyes. “It was all the wrong color for your complexion.”
Jill giggled. “Everyone has to wear a dress they hate at some point in their life. Right?” She had hated the purple monstrosity with everything inside her, and she still didn’t wear purple to this day.
“Youreallyhated it.”
“I really did.” Jill laughed again and started to re-wrap her mother’s head with the scarf. “Do you remember what you told me?”
Her mom sighed as she sat down so Jill wouldn’t have to reach up so high. “Yes.”
“You said, ‘Jilly, God is the only one who can look at the whole picture and decide who deserves what. Not you, and not me. God didn’t give us enough time to get a better dress. This is the dress we have, and you’re going to go to that prom with that silly boy, and you’re going to be beautiful.’” She tucked the end of the scarf in firmly, so her mother’s hair was covered again.
She crouched down in front of her. “So God decided you didn’t need a full head of hair, Mama. He didn’t give this one thing back to you, but your last scan was clear. You don’t have to have surgery. Those are huge blessings.”
Jill gave her another wavering smile. “This is the life you have, and it’s amazing and beautiful and filled withmanygood things—just not a beautiful head of hair. Daddy loves you. We all love you. Even Mister Rogers loves you.”
Her mother reached out and took her face in both of her hands. “How did I get such an amazing daughter?”
Jill just smiled. “I think that one is upstairs, Mama.” She stood up, her knees too old to crouch for long.
“No, she’s not.” Mama stood up too. “She brings me food I don’t need and makes me feel like I’m too old and too frail to do anything.” She frowned toward the steps, and Jill could only stare at her.
