When my mother began chemotherapy for her stage 4 cancer, the doctor said she would likely lose her hair. In anticipation—and an attempt to find joy wherever we could, given the circumstances—we visited our local wig shop.

Her relationship with her hair was complex. At just under six feet tall, my mom's height already made her stand out. Add in her coily, bright-red afro (all natural), and she was unmissable. It was the very thing that had drawn my 5’7” father to her from across a stadium at a college basketball game, but it was always something she spoke about being self-conscious about for the entire 21 years we spent together. Eventually, she began chemically straightening her hair, and it was a beauty appointment she maintained until the end of her life.

My mom and me on the day we w

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