A white strand of hair

I found a strand of white hair when cleaning my hair today and my natural instinct was to remove it. I pulled it and looked at it. Just a strand of hair, looking back to me, all white and sad, colorless and sad.
Monday goes away with house cleaning routines, Tuesday rushes in with music lessons and cooking, Wednesday comes with games and fun, Thursday is pancake evening, Friday is toy day and then the weekend comes with trips and relaxation. Then the wheel turns again and again and again for as much as our body can handle.
My white hair strand tells the story of the past 32 years of similar sequences and makes me sad, not for the past but for the future. There are mornings when the first step out of the bed comes with pain, when looking in the mirror is scary and when leaning to pick the clothes from the floor produces a grimace of back-pain. And this is just the beginning of a beautiful friendship with an aging body.

My grand-dad is 90, he does not do much anymore, just moves around the house, helped by my parents and a wooden stick. He does not hear properly anymore and sometimes spends the entire day sleeping. My grand-mum died 14 years ago after daily telling my grand-dad that she will die first and he’ll see how bad it is without her. She was right.
Despite of this apparently meaningless and painful life, a few months ago when he was diagnosed with cancer and the only possible “treatment” would be chemotherapy, that was not tried for patients older than 70, he said he wants to do it. They explained the side effects and how ill he will be, but he still wants to do it. The third session is when the side effects kick in; this Thursday he will have his third session.

It is amazing how we fight for this short moment in time when we are here. Sadly it is hopeless.