She washes my hair twice, working the suds through every strand while being mindful of my tender scalp. The same process is repeated with the conditioner, hopefully loosening all the tangles. Silently, tears slip from my eyes. I should feel traumatized that yet another person is viewing my body, but the dominant emotion tightening my chest is graciousness. I wish it was Mom here doing this, but I think it helps that it’s someone she knew.
