(If you’re neurotypical, the idea of being unable to wait for a haircut probably seems very odd. All my neuro-spicy folks know what I mean.)
I went into a place where I knew they probably couldn’t mess up a trim and was the only customer in the place. As I was checking, a woman and a tween (her daughter?) came in behind me. They also checked in and we were seated in side-by-side chairs, probably six feet apart.
After I had discussed my instantaneous trim needs with the stylist, I was then listening to the other stylist discuss the desired haircut with the tween. She wanted all her hair gone, a dramatic chop! As she spoke with her stylist, she explained why and included that her father had passed away a few days earlier.
The stylist gasped and offered condolences. She asked what happened. The child said, “Illness”, but the adult (mom?) said, “He lost his battle with depression.”
The stylist offered condolences again and then told a story about loss in her family. I know this was to show understanding and solidarity, but the end result was the mom walking away to examine the product display. When your grief is fresh, you don’t always have the capacity to process other people’s stories or even to receive them graciously. Everything you have is concentrated on keeping yourself going for the people who need you.
As our haircuts continued in tandem, I listened to the tween talk about hair and then listened to the whisper of the scissors in both our stations. I thought about what I might say to the woman. I knew some good books to offer, and I had colleagues in the location I trusted, if she needed a clergyperson or just someone to listen.
I also know that, in grief and overwhelm, it can be hard to discern good intentions. Sometimes an encounter with a stranger, no matter how well meaning, is just too much information to process.
I wanted to do something, anything, that could be helpful, and I felt that I had one choice. As I gathered my things after my cut, I motioned to my stylist that I wanted to pay for both haircuts. I paid, tipped well, and left without saying anything to anyone.
I have fairly extensive experience in being with people in grief. I am not a stranger to a conversation around the pain and mixed emotions of being left behind after someone completes suic*de. I have worked with children after loss.
I also know that sometimes words are not the thing. Sometimes silence is the thing. Silence may involve listening. Silence may involve service, even for someone you don’t know.
That woman expected to pay $20 or so for that haircut, so I don’t think I made a significant financial contribution to her situation. I do think, though, that a paid for haircut could be a tiny bit of hope or comfort in a bleak midwinter. It is enough to know that someone heard her pain and wanted to help a little. And if many people around her help a little, it can change a lot.
When we treat money as a taboo subject, it means we also don’t discuss what good can come from it. The cost of that haircut wasn’t nothing to me. I have kids. I have bills. I have student debt I’m still paying. It was, however, what I hope someone would do for me or for someone I love in the same situation.
Little generosities, small kindnesses, gentle silent service can make big differences. You don't have to have the right words. It is often enough to just do one small thing.
Andrew Jackson was not Jesus.
But an Andrew Jackson can do the work of Jesus in a moment. It can dispel a kernel of the shadow of grief. Sometimes that’s all you can do.
And it is enough.
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