I remember the one time someone brushed my hair. It wasn’t by my sister, my mother or my
grandmother. In fact, I had never had
this done before. I was in high school when my Great Aunt Doris, my mother’s
aunt, visited us in St. Louis.
From the time I was a young girl, I was fortunate to be able to spend a few weeks each summer with my grandparents in this quiet, rural Iowa town. Bedford was idyllic in many ways: the red bricked streets with high curbs, the trees which bowed their branches over most streets, the slow pace in which the town seemed to move. Despite this idyllic environment, there was a tension that belied the seemingly smooth service, at least in my family. My grandmother had long standing issues with her sister in law, my Aunt Doris. I am uncertain as to the specifics of these grudges held, but they resulted in my grandmother refusing to let me see my Aunt Doris when I visited.
From the time I was a young girl, I was fortunate to be able to spend a few weeks each summer with my grandparents in this quiet, rural Iowa town. Bedford was idyllic in many ways: the red bricked streets with high curbs, the trees which bowed their branches over most streets, the slow pace in which the town seemed to move. Despite this idyllic environment, there was a tension that belied the seemingly smooth service, at least in my family. My grandmother had long standing issues with her sister in law, my Aunt Doris. I am uncertain as to the specifics of these grudges held, but they resulted in my grandmother refusing to let me see my Aunt Doris when I visited.
I knew of Aunt Doris’ kindness, however, by the stories my
mother told. I knew of her strength and her
character. Several years after my
grandmother passed, my aunt traveled to St. Louis to visit our family. One late evening we were all sitting in the
living room. It was the night before my
aunt was to return to Bedford, Iowa. We
were chatting, involved in idle conversation.
I was sitting on the floor as the rest of the seats were taken by
adults. My Aunt Doris asked me to go and
get my brush. She placed a pillow from
the couch at her feet and patted it, taking the brush. I had long hair at the time and she began
brushing it, slowly from the crown of my head.
She did so gently and with much attention. It felt calming and had the soothing effect
which was very much needed by me as a teenager in high school. Somehow my Aunt Doris knew this. She was always quite intuitive this way; sensing
what people needed before they knew themselves.
I will always remember my Aunt Doris brushing my hair. It was done out of love, intimately, from one
woman to another. It was a gift from her to me. One I will always cherish.
