SIP Day 59, wearing black tank and black yoga pants; 71 degrees outside today and rainy all day.
A year ago I stopped dyeing my hair on the anniversary of my bone cancer diagnosis. The anniversary is always a tough time for me–last year was even more difficult than usual, because my sister was fighting stage 4 pancreatic cancer.
It seemed a time that I wanted to visibly mark that I was still alive and I was growing older, older than I thought I’d ever be. Every time I looked in the mirror and saw my grey I realized how fortunate I was to be alive, and it simultaneously reminded me that my sister’s days were numbered.
I didn’t really announce to anyone that I was going grey, I just let it happen. My son remarked that every time he saw me I was more grey and he said I was wearing it well. I don’t know if I am wearing it well or not well, but it is “me” now and I like this streak of white that edges the front of my bangs and that fans out across the right side of my hairline.
I have many friends that have stopped dyeing their hair during this pandemic and I wonder how many of them will mark this period of time as one when they were celebrating their ageing, and not trying to hide the fact that they are growing older.
