Bad Hair Day

Dearest Kyra, Daughter of Mine,
Today you woke up with a bad hair day. Your eyes were filled with tears and you yelled from your bed, "I hate my hair!"  Anyone looking at this scene would think it was a normal reaction for a girl at seventeen to hate her hair. But your response had and will always have a different streak to it.
Without you knowing it, as you complained, I was giving thanks under my breath. For you, my darling little girl, are a tried and true bad hair survivor. Yours isn't a standard teenager's bad hair day. For only four years ago, that hair on your head was all but gone. 

As you rolled out of bed I heard you mumble that having cancer is still affecting you three years later. Quick to the point, with much to do, I replied, "Honey you will be affected for the rest of your life."

You chirped, "Thanks a lot mom!"

I smiled, you rolled your eyes and the morning madness began. I knew then what you really wanted to say to me was, "I hate what chemo did to my hair."
I continued on with the 8 a.m. rush, making lunches for you three kids; wiping down the kitchen counters; taking the garbage out; feeding the cats; sweeping the floor; answering the phone; getting music ready for my classes and finally sending you all out the door with a big kiss.
As you all left the house, I caught sight of myself in the studio's mirror and I noticed that I did not have the time to brush my hair and it was looking like a rat's nest. Yes, I was having a bad hair day just like you! 

And, out of nowhere, I began to cry.

The morning activities had come to an abrupt stop. In the sudden quiet and emptiness of the house, I too realized that I am still affected by your incredible fight four years ago. As your mother, I will never be the same again. You, my little hero, have taught me to never let a day go by without giving thanks for the sweet chaos and delicious life force that surrounds me.

Standing there in my dance studio, it was the first time I cried about your struggle. The day you were diagnosed, I cried in my car all the way from Sick Kids to Cottingham School. But when I saw your little brother and sister waiting for me there, I stopped my tears... for a long, long time.
I watched you go through so much, my baby girl. You were as stoic and heroic as they come. I was witness to your six days of surgery; your year on brutal chemo; twelve blood transfusions; the hundreds of needle pokes to access the port implanted in your chest; the weeks in the hospital for systemic infections; hours of physio to strengthen your leg where muscles had been removed; months watching you inject yourself with meds to increase your bone marrow count; finding out that your heart will never be the same because of your treatment; listening to you get up every 45 minutes in the hospital in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, with your IV pole with your little bald head, and washing your hands every single time; being so tired and lethargic for months that all you could do was hug a teddy and watch half a movie.

You did all of this, Kyra, with a loving spirit shining from your big blue eyes and that sweet smile on your face. You never complained once. And even in your drugged-out delirium, you would always thank the doctors and nurses.

No Kyra, I, too, will never be the same. You have shown me how to live life fully with grace and courage. But more importantly your fight has made me honour the preciousness of having you in my world.

Your scars, in many ways, are my scars too. And from what I see they are the most beautiful scars in the world. They are a reminder to all who love you how blessed we are to have you with us and how we must never take anything for granted, even a bad hair day.

You are not alone, my daughter.

Hey, by the way Kiki, let's get our hair done this weekend!
I love you endlessly,
Mom

P.S. This letter does not entitle you to any privileges. You still need to clean your room, li’l stinker!

Sarina Condello, Kyra’s mother, is the host of TV’s The Barefoot Dancer. Kyra, her daughter, a black belt in Tae Kwan Do, has now finished grade twelve and will be going to McGill University this fall.