My wig came in.
I really had to wait until my hair fell out to get it anyway (or until I shaved it off) because the type of wig it is molds to the bare head to fit snuggly and comfortably and needs to be done with the least amount of hair to restrict the fit.
So, really, I waited.
And once I was bald, I was able to get it.
I’ve been told by many women with cancer,”You’ll get a wig, because it’s what you feel like you should do, but you’ll hardly ever wear it. ”
And honestly, I felt like that would definitely be me.
I really had zero interest in walking around with fake hair, pretending I’m ok, when really I’m not.
I’m definitely not about faking it.
That’s just not who I am.
Even picking out the wig was hard and in the end, I left it up to my daughter and the wig specialist to pick the style, color, and length.
So today was difficult.
I arrived to pick up my wig feeling like a “fake”.
I’ve never been big on looking in a mirror and saying,”I look good,”so I knew it would be hard when the wig was placed on my head and a reaction would be expected.
(I’m usually that girl who gets a great haircut and says,”Gee, thanks. This looks, er, um, nice,” because I feel superficial to say,”Damnnnn. I look good.”)
But today was different.
Jeri, the wig specialist, put the wig on me and I looked…
For the first time in weeks.
I didn’t cry.
But it was definitely emotional.
She told me that all of the wigs are blessed by a local priest before they are given to the owners and that she just knew by my eyes that God has bigger things in store for me.
And then we prayed.
I drove home with the wig on (because it needed to remain on my head for hours to mold to my head shape for a better fit) feeling “normal” for the first time since September 21st.
When I arrived home, Will was already there with his aide.
He saw me and his face lit up.
It’s been a challenge with Will since I got sick.
All of the other kids understand.
Will just doesn’t.
I can say,”Mommy is sick,” but he doesn’t understand.
He’s been acting out.
And has been sad.
And just not himself.
But seeing me in the wig, like his mommy before I got sick, was all he needed.
He couldn’t stop hugging me.
And giving me kisses.
And grabbing my face and holding it.
It was as if all this time he just couldn’t express his loss and it came pouring out in affection, and an abundance of love that he obviously didn’t know how to show before.
He’d rUn from the room and come back to check and see if I still looked the same,
And then he’d smile and kiss me again.
It made my heart ache for him.
And for me.
And for all the times my sweet boy can’t express his hurt,
I’m pretty positive I’ll be wearing my wig more than I expected.
If it means my boy’s heart is happy,
It means my heart is happy ♡