As I entered the salon for a haircut, a petite woman with Persian features introduced herself. My previous stylist had relocated, she explained. Her name was Layla, and she was stepping into Michelle’s client roster.
I immediately felt a connection with Layla. There was a gentle elegance about her. She inquired about my profession, and I described myself as a mother who enjoys writing. When I mentioned my blog, her interest piqued.
“It’s a blog for mothers?” she asked.
“Yes, that’s what people refer to it as,” I replied.
“I would like to share about my mother.”
And so she did. Layla spoke of a woman whose laughter could halt men in their tracks at the grocery store. She described her mother’s unique sleeping posture, her graceful walk, her ability to keep secrets, and the comforting aroma that surrounded her. Layla painted a picture of a woman who was gentle, non-judgmental, and deeply faithful. “My mother is my closest friend,” she added.
Curious, I asked if she would be able to spend Thanksgiving with her mom. Layla paused, placing the scissors down. “My mother passed away 17 years ago. Yet, it feels as fresh as yesterday.”
A shadow of sorrow crossed her brown eyes. She shook her head as if trying to dispel the thought before picking up her scissors again. The silence hung heavy, and I sensed she was fighting to maintain her composure. After a brief moment, she inhaled deeply. “I don’t celebrate that holiday anymore. It only brings back memories of my childhood, which is gone, along with my mother.”
In that moment, I truly understood her pain. I had just returned from a weekend with my best friend, someone with whom I shared not only laughter but features as well—like our ski slope noses and dark hair. She indulges me with Southern cuisine, pedicures, and sweet lattes. Whenever I’m with her, I feel like a child again.
Our bond encompasses the entirety of my life—she was there for everything, from burp cloths to wedding dress shopping, and even at my son’s birth. My mother is not just my best friend; she embodies the essence of my childhood.
Edna St. Vincent Millay once said, “Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies.” Perhaps that’s partly true. Our parents are the keepers of that kingdom. Once they leave us, childhood becomes a mere memory—a story we recount to our own children as they squirm in their car seats, or a cherished book on the shelf, filled with tales that can be told but never relived.
I felt an overwhelming urge to leap from that salon chair and call my mom, but instead, I sat in the thick silence marking the end of my appointment. I watched as Layla straightened my hair, wanting to express my gratitude but unable to find the right words. I ran my fingers through my newly styled hair and smiled. “It’s a wonderful haircut; I really love it.”
With pride, Layla handed me a mirror for inspection. She twirled the chair until I placed the mirror in my lap and thanked her. As she led me to the checkout, I found myself content to pay the salon price for once.
I yearned to embrace her, but she didn’t seem open to that gesture. I wanted to convey my thanks, but mere words—and the generous tip I left—felt inadequate. So, I waved goodbye, my heart full of gratitude as Layla welcomed her next client.
No doubt, her business would flourish; she was truly talented at cutting hair.
Once in my car, I buckled my seatbelt and snapped a selfie to showcase my fresh new look. I added the picture to a text message, scrolling to the “M”s to find Mom. I hesitated, then deleted the message. Instead, I activated Siri and spoke, my voice trembling: “Call Mom.”
Only two rings passed before her familiar voice greeted me. “Hello?”
“Hi, Mom?” My voice wavered, revealing my emotions.
“I just wanted to say I love you, Mom.”
This article was originally published on Jan. 11, 2016.
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Summary
In a poignant exchange at the salon, Layla, a new stylist, shares the deep bond she had with her late mother, highlighting the profound impact of parental relationships on our sense of childhood. As the author reflects on her own connection with her mother, she realizes the importance of expressing love and gratitude, leading to an emotional phone call.