He washed my hair. He wasn't trying to tell me that it was oily or dirty. He wasn't being playful. He washed it because I couldn't. And I cried.
Something so simple shouldn't be this difficult, should it? "It's OK," he told me. "It will get better." Better is anything but this. And in the shower, he held me close, massaging my scalp, whispering to me. "It will be alright." And still I cried.
As he rinsed the shampoo from my hair I realized a few things:
He had not left.
He was not asking for anything in return.
He didn't know if I would be alright, but he had faith in me to fight. And I cried in appreciation.
Six months later, he received a phone call. I had fallen at school. Could he come pick me up? I need you. "I'll be right there. Are you OK?" No. Please get here soon. "It will be alright." And I closed my eyes and waited.
He helped me into the car and drove me to the ER. "She fell at school and hit her head. Please help her." It hurt and I wanted to sleep, but he kept talking to me, keeping me awake. I went through tests and X-Rays. In the end, they told me I had a concussion. He helped me get dressed, and we left the hospital. And I ground my teeth through the ride home.
Days later, I got out of bed feeling tired and achy. I needed a bath but worried I would fall asleep. So, he helped me into the shower once again. He held me up when I was dizzy, made sure I got all of the shampoo out of my hair, and told me, "Everything will be alright." Yes, everything will be alright. And I smiled.