Telling the Truth

Hairdressers, co-workers, healthcare providers. Telling the Truth. It's a problem I have, telling my truth. Sometimes I forget that the truth is not well accepted. Saturday morning three days after we got the initial brain tumor news, my hairdresser or stylist, K asked " How are you?" Maybe we are to call them stylists? That must be for celebrities, not moms who get their hair done at the salon because of it's proximity to Winn Dixie. She cries through the whole cut, and blow dry. I am exhausted by it. I shouldn't have told her. Two weeks ago I saw k for the last time. She is moving back home to Nashville. She is one of two fantastic hairdressers I have had in my almost 48 years. The first was E at a Salonu Gozelik in Baku Azerbaijan, too long of a commute from Florida. K says she's leaving me in good hands with Lilly. I'll start fresh with Lilly. There will be no talk of brain tumors. A clean slate, just another short brown and white speckled head of forty something hair I will be.