NEXT TIME, BRAID THE HAIR

It was a Saturday morning back when I was in nursing school, and I was packing up to head to my 12-hour shift at the hospital lab. Minutes before time to leave, my granddaughter Lizzy came downstairs.

Lizzy's family was living with us while they worked on getting a home they had recently bought ready to live in. Over the weeks that we lived under one roof, Lizzy and I developed a morning ritual. While I drank coffee and read my Bible early mornings before school or work, Lizzy joined me with a cup of hot tea and toast. 

These were such sweet mornings together. We chatted and shared our thoughts with one another. And I braided Lizzy's hair.

But on the very last morning, the morning of the day her family was finally moving into their new house, Lizzy slept late. And so, by the time she made it downstairs, it was already time for me to hop in the car and leave for work.

I quickly fixed Lizzy a cup of hot tea and a piece of buttered toast. "Can you braid my hair, Vivi?" she asked.

It broke my heart to tell her no. "I'm sorry, Lizzy, but I can't. I have to go to work, and I'm already leaving a little late." I hugged her, then drove to work with a very heavy heart. I clocked in only seconds before the time clock clicked 7:01.

I walked into the lab break room, hung my jacket in a locker, and pushed my lunch bag into the fridge. Ragan, one of the techs, was already in the break room, starting a pot of coffee.

At Ragan's "Good morning," I lost it. I came completely unglued and sobbed.

"Good grief!" Ragan turned to me with wide eyes. "What on earth is wrong? Sit down!" She pointed empathically at a chair. "Tell me what is going on!"

And so between sobs, I told Ragan that today, my daughter and her family were moving and that when I got home this evening after today's shift, the house would be empty and quiet and unbearably sad. "And Lizzy wanted me to braid her hair, and I didn't have time because I was going to be late for work, and when I get home, she will be gone, and...." More tears.

Ragan listened until all my words and tears were spent. Reaching across the table, she took my hands, looked me in the eyes, and softly said, "Camille, next time, braid the hair. Work can wait. We will manage without you until you get here."

* * * * *

I finished nursing school and went from 18-hour school days and 12-hour weekend work days to a Monday-Friday job that, while incredibly stressful, actually pays pretty well.

My first year as a full-time nurse, I decided I wanted a real, honest-to-goodness vacation. At the beach. Where I could sit and stare at the surf and cry if I wanted and let the rhythm of the waves against the shore pull all the stress out of my neck and shoulders. So I rented a beach house, and I invited all the kids to come if they wanted and could make it. If they couldn't come, that was okay, too.

Several of the kids came, and we all agreed that it was such a good holiday that we needed to do it again.

This week, a year later, we are back at the beach again.

Early morning walks to search for sea shells washed up overnight. Aunties and Uncles milling about the kitchen preparing meals together, cousins building sand castles and splashing in the waves. Tea parties, jigsaw puzzles, and picnics on the porch. Good wine, good conversation, beautiful sunsets, and cool moonlight walks.

And lots and lots of braiding hair.

My heart is overflowing.