The Hairbrush

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by Rebecca Barnes, Publisher, Prince William Living

It was in the midst of sorting and packing that my father said to me – is there anything you want?

“Besides my mother back?” I thought. “Not really Dad.”

I had said before it hit me. “Wait. There is one thing.”

I went around the corner into the bathroom, and there it was. Among the lonely beauty products that had gathered dust since the days my mother could climb the stairs to her bedroom, it sat. My mother’s hairbrush. A salmon colored 1970’s Goody brand hairbrush.

I picked it up and in an instant, my childhood came rushing back. This was the brush that my mother used to brush my long hair with every night – 100 strokes she would say, although I doubt either of us had the patience to actually make it to 100.

I had my own hairbrush of course, but something about this brush always gave me comfort.

Years after I had moved out of our home, when I would visit, I would occasionally sneak upstairs and brush my hair with it. I always swore it had magic in it. It made my hair look better, or maybe it just made me feel better. Either way, I have never found a brush like it.

How the hairbrush didn’t go with my mother to Emeritus, I don’t know. But there it was, in the same spot, as if it was waiting for me. My poor father must have thought I was crazy to want a hairbrush, but of course, he didn’t know about the magic.

Now, every day, I brush my hair with my Goody hairbrush and a small part of me still has her with me. Maybe THAT is the magic.


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