editorials

Salt and Pepper

My mother-inlaw, Margaret, lost her hair when she was a young woman. I’ve seen photos of her when she was in her early twenties, posed glamorously in front of a New York City sidewalk around Easter Sunday with natural dark locks hanging to her shoulders. In other photos from ten years later, she’s obviously wearing a dark wig fashioned in a style similar to Jacqueline “Jackie” Kennedy Onassis’ hair. I always wondered what happened to her hair during that time frame, but I never asked her. I didn’t want to bring up painful memories.

It was no secret that Margaret wore a wig, but we didn’t discuss it. She bought her hair pieces from a Paula Young catalogue. Many times when we visited, I found the catalogue on a side table and browsed the pages, intrigued by the many hairstyles one could purchase via mail order.

In 1990, the year I joined the Nagle clan, Margaret still wore a dark brown (almost black) wig in the style of the ever-solovely Jackie O.

As the years passed, one by one, members of the family began graying a bit, but Margaret’s artificial hair stayed youthful and dark. She never had a bad hair day. Indeed, in her mid seventies, Margaret still rocked the same hairstyle and color we were accustomed to seeing, thanks to the timeless Paula Young wigs stowed away in her dresser drawers.

Her unnatural-looking dark hair began drawing glances and double takes in public. Still, no one dared say anything about the deep, dark color of her wig in fear it would hurt her feelings.

A car accident left Margaret with some permanent brain damage. Shortly after, she was diagnosed with dementia, and as many families do, we watched her slow, steady decline.

W hen my father-in-law died in 2009, her dementia had gotten a bit worse. Some days she seemed fine. Other days, she told us her father (who had been dead for decades) was coming to visit her.

We became her guardians along with my sisters-in-law. We moved her into an assisted living facility between our homes, and each of us had a role in taking care of her. My husband was in charge of selling her home in Chattanooga and taking care of her finances. His sister drove her to many of her medical appointments. I was in charge of her clothing, and her hair.

First, I purchased some soft, comfortable outfits for her to wear around the facility. Next, I visited the Paula Young website and selected a couple of casual hairstyles for my mom-in-law. When I began to check out, the website prompted me to select a hair color. I could purchase the jet black wigs that had begun to look a bit odd on the 80-something-year-old woman, or I could purchase a dark wig with some gray strands mingled in. I made the executive decision to order a “salt and pepper” wig — 60 percent black and 40 percent gray.

A few weeks later, I visited Margaret and helped her get dressed for dinner.

“I have some new hair for you to try,” I said, reaching into the Paula Young box and lifting out the new wig.

I placed it on her head and rolled her wheelchair over to a mirror so she could take a look at herself. Margaret stared at her image and tugged the wig into place. She turned her head from side to side and stared at the wig — muted black with ashcolored strands mixed in at a very believable amount.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, feeling a bit guilty for fooling her.

“Well, will you look at that,” she said after several seconds. “I’m going gray! And it happened so fast!”

She seemed to accept it, and I was relieved. With that, I whisked her to the dining room in her wheelchair watching her twirl the artificial strands of salt and pepper hair around her fingers.

Margaret died in 2012, but my mind and my memories keep her alive. I often share stories about her — like how she loved the Braves, collected antiques, and sang along with opera singer, Jose Carreras. But one of my favorite “Margaret stories” is the time she went gray overnight — one day she had black hair like an Egyptian, and then the next day she sported a salt and pepper hairdo, thanks to the magic of a Paula Young wig and a sneaky daughter-in-law who loved her dearly.