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

and turned on the bright light over the sink, not flinching when my reflection appeared in the glass.

My silver hair was mine now, paid for in full by the twelve weeks of worry and the long hours at the oak table, and I did not want to hide it behind a chemical dark anymore.

I bent down and opened the wooden cabinet under the sink, the hinges creaking continue reading …