Sixty-three Year Old Widow Refused to Hide Her Gray Hair at Work

pulled my daughter into my arms.

We stood there on the sidewalk of Elm Street, the morning traffic passing us by, both of us crying into each other’s shoulders.

The bathroom mirror did not lie to me the next morning, nor did the bright sixty-watt bulb I had screwed into the light fixture above the medicine cabinet.

The silver started at my temples, a continue reading …