I think, too, of how once I always insisted that the best thing about life was that hair grew, which was the simple evidence that nothing stayed the same forever, and therefore proof of the possibilities that the world could change. Now it wasn’t just that my hair would fall out, it was that my follicles would die, and painfully, that what once grew would stop growing even as I myself kept living, and everything I once understood about the world as evident would be subject to another proof.
