All of this flooded back on a call with Sister #1 about a week ago. Actively grieving the mother she loved, lived with her whole adult life (along with her family), and cared for, she’s still trying to shake off traumatic memories.
Sister 1 was speaking about one of the tasks she most dreaded during my mother’s illness--the weekly trip to her last hairdresser, Zena, a Russian-by-way-of-Israel émigré, at a place called Forever Young Unisex Beauty Salon on Avenue M.
“I’d call ahead to see if they were ready . . . As Mom got sicker, if we were there and they didn’t take her right away, she’d get confused and start screaming ‘What’s going on here?’ ‘What’s happening?’ “
In those days, the winter and spring of 2014, just getting my mother’s pajamas off and putting on her street clothes played out like a scene of elder abuse. She fought and cried like a trapped animal. The one time I had to do it, I had a distinct awareness of looking sadistic, and, in my anger at that, I began to feel sadistic. By the time I'd pulled on her sweater, it was as though I’d not only defeated but also humiliated her.
My sister goes on, “Getting her into the car and out of the car was an ordeal. Then, the look on her face as she resisted each step, from the car to the salon, leaning back on me as though she were being pushed into a pit. But she still insisted on getting her hair done and colored.”
“Why didn’t Tamari do it? Tamari was my mother’s paid caregiver, a solidly built, stern but astonishingly kind former pianist from Georgia in the former Soviet Union.
“Mom felt it was too personal. She didn’t want anyone to know she dyed her hair.”
Undone, I exploded with laughter, expecting Sister 1 to join. Instead, I hear a sharp, involuntary inhale. My sister is still in the nightmare.
“Going to this place with no heat, torn chairs, unusable bathrooms. It was so awful,” she says. “Before Mom got sick there were a few nice women she liked to see there, also doctor’s widows, who were attractive in their heyday . . . “ she trails off in tears and I ask no more questions.