Transitioning into a new community is always a challenge. There are so many necessary connections you need to make; doctors, dentists, auto mechanics but one of the most important for any woman is her hairdresser. A bad haircut can ruin not only your day, but for however long it takes to regrow what you’ve lost to make reshaping possible. Finding that perfect mix of skill, personality and availability can be difficult and require a fews trials and errors.
When we moved here ten years ago, I hit the jackpot! About six weeks after moving in, without so much as a referral, I drove to the place nearest to my house and walked in to make an appointment. The owner greeted me and although she was booked for the day, made an appointment with her sister later that afternoon.
My first impression of Brenda was one of uncertainty. Having moved to this small town from Virginia Beach; a city that has long refused to label itself as such, I was more accustomed to flashy salons with large posters of men and women with trendy hairstyles, pulsing music and several stations with hip looking technicians with spiky hair in black smocks. This shop was the total opposite. There were four stations, two on either side of the room, but it was obvious that only two of them were ever used. The decor was simple but clean and soft country music played in the background.
Brenda was anything but flashy. In fact, there was no pretense to her at all. She was tall and very thin, with straight brunette hair, dressed simply in jeans and a top. She had a deep voice and country accent that I loved. She was also precise to a fault.
When cutting my hair she would cut it wet, blow it dry and then go over it again, trimming until my cut met her exacting standards. Sometimes I would tease her and ask her if “we were there yet?” like a kid on a long car trip. She would laugh and have me shake my head one more time to make sure the hair lay perfectly and then comb and clip away some more.
This morning, as I was in the midst of running errands, I received a text from a friend telling me that she’d seen an obituary for Brenda in this morning’s paper. Incredulous, I quickly pulled up the local paper on my phone to search the obits and was crushed to see that it was true.
At my last appointment, just about ten days ago, Brenda colored and cut my hair in preparation of my son, Andy’s wedding as she’d done eight years ago when my daughter Maggie was married. In fact, in the past ten years, no one else has cut my hair. I always looked forward to seeing her not simply because she was a good hairdresser and she made me look good but because over these past years she became my friend and she always made me feel good too.
Brenda was salt of the earth. She was grounded in her faith and deeply dedicated to her family. She loved to go fishing, tend her garden and her many cats. She was not a chatty soul but we shared much of our lives through the many hours I sat in her chair. I will miss her throaty laugh and most of all the big hug she gave me before I left the shop.
I know it’s cliche, but you really never know when the last time you’ll see someone you love will be. I am grateful that the last time I saw Brenda it was a happy time and that I got and gave that one last hug.