Slipping Through My Hands

It didn’t happen all at once.

There wasn’t a single moment where everything changed.

It was smaller than that.

The comb would be full of it. My chair at work would have it on it when I stood up. Running my hands through my hair or putting product in it meant ending up with strands in my hands. My bathrobe had it all over when I would get dressed.

Enough each time to notice. Enough to know.

I knew this was coming. I had been told what could happen. I had prepared practically.

But knowing it would happen and seeing it happen are not the same thing.

It felt quiet. Matter-of-fact. And still…something shifted.

This was one of those moments where something moves from expected to real.

Just another step of many layers in this-and one I won’t forget.