The Styling Sessions

A simple hair dryer sparked an unexpected memory this week. The brush-style dryer belonged to my mother, who passed away a few months ago, and I have been using it recently as my hair continues to grow back after treatment. While drying my hair one morning, I found myself thinking about how that dryer came into my possession and the role it played during a very different chapter of our lives. What began as an ordinary part of my morning routine unexpectedly became a moment of reflection.

Before COVID, my mother visited the beauty shop every week. The appointment was not simply about maintaining her appearance. It was also an important social activity that allowed her to connect with people and maintain a routine she enjoyed. When COVID disrupted daily life, many of those routines disappeared overnight. My husband and I isolated because he was considered high risk, and we treated my mother as an extension of our household so that we could continue supporting her safely.

During that period, my sister and I divided responsibilities in a way that reduced risk for everyone involved. I handled many of the tasks inside the home, while my sister took responsibility for activities that required interaction with the public, such as picking up prescriptions and running errands. By minimizing direct contact with our mother, my sister could continue helping without increasing the exposure risk for Mom. It was not an arrangement we would not have chosen under normal circumstances, but it worked remarkably well during a difficult period.

One of the things that changed during COVID was my mother’s hair. Because she could no longer visit the beauty shop regularly, she stopped coloring it and allowed it to transition naturally to gray. Over time, the gray became a beautiful and remarkably uniform white. Since I had no ability to help with the coloring process, allowing it to grow naturally became the simplest solution. Eventually she grew to like it that way and never returned to coloring her hair, even after she resumed her regular beauty shop visits.

Although I could not help with coloring, I could help with styling. During many of my visits, my mother would wash her hair and then wait for me to arrive so I could dry and style it for her. I often joked that she had accumulated quite a backlog of styling sessions because she had spent years styling my hair when I was growing up. In fact, she finally stopped styling my hair when I reached junior high because I had developed a habit of requesting multiple styling sessions each day. One session before school was apparently not enough. If I had plans after school or in the evening, I often wanted a second session to “freshen it up.”

At the time, helping my mother felt like a small act of service. She needed assistance, and I was happy to provide it. I never viewed those moments as particularly significant. They were simply part of the rhythm of life during an unusual period when many families were finding new ways to care for one another. Looking back, I am grateful for the extra time I was able to spend with her during those years. What felt ordinary at the time has become far more meaningful in hindsight.

Last year, after treatment, I lost my own hair. When it began growing back, I discovered something unexpected. The hair that returned was much curlier than the long, straight hair I had worn for the previous thirty to thirty-five years. Managing short, curly hair was not a skill I possessed. As I struggled through the awkward stages of regrowth, I happened to find my mother’s brush dryer while visiting the caretaker who was still living in her home. I immediately remembered those COVID styling sessions and decided to bring the dryer home with me.

Since then, I have used it regularly. What struck me recently is that the only reason I knew how to style short hair at all was because of the time I spent helping my mother during COVID. The experience I thought was solely about serving her had quietly prepared me for something I would eventually need myself. At the time, I could not have anticipated that connection. There was no reason to believe that those simple afternoons drying my mother’s hair would someday become relevant to my own life.

That realization does not lead me to believe that all events can be categorized as “everything happens for a reason” or that every experience contains a hidden lesson waiting to be discovered. Life is usually more complicated than that. However, I am reminded that experiences often become valuable in ways we never anticipate. Sometimes the things we learn while helping someone else remain dormant for years before unexpectedly resurfacing when we need them most.

This week, all of those memories returned because of a hair dryer. What started as a practical tool became a connection to my mother, a reminder of a difficult but meaningful period of life, and an unexpected reflection on how acts of care can continue giving long after we realize their significance. Every time I use it, I am reminded not only of the styling sessions we shared during COVID, but also of the extra time we were given together. For that, I will always be grateful.