Possibilities

My friend had her hair colored yesterday. I know what you are thinking but keep reading.

Earlier this week, her sister lost her battle with ALS. My friend's constant trips down to Washington to watch the unfolding tragedy, most often in the company of both her husband and her mother, are now over.

She is not a religious person, never has been. She does not believe in God nor in the possibility of an after life. But, like many of us, she can not be unequivocal in her position. There is always the remote chance that she is mistaken. Which brings me back to the issue of hair coloring.

My friend's sister, so I have learned from years of tales told, was a woman who put much importance on appearance. Even during the course of her illness, she wanted to make sure that her hair was combed just right, that she was properly made up. How you present yourself was more than a decision, it was a declaration.

There is a memorial service next Monday to honor my friend's sister. One more trip to Washington, this time to say a final goodbye. And just a chance that one of those in attendance might be paying close attention to detail. "You see", my friend said, "if my sister is looking down on me, she would not want to find any gray roots."

So an avowed skeptic is hedging her bet. And hoping her sister thinks her hair looks perfect.