October 26th, 1995: The worst day of my life

October 26th, 1995 was the worst day of my life. That's the day that I
was given a Red Cross message informing me that my Grandfather had
died. I wish that I still had that small piece of paper that so
unraveled my being in order to look at it when times are tough knowing
that nothing could be as bad as that day.

If we are lucky, we may meet one person in our life who will love us
unconditionally and show us the joy that life has to offer. My
grandfather was that person for me. He was my father's father and he
took care of me when I left home after high school. He was the most
loving and unbiased person I've ever know and today I still miss him.
After I graduated high school, like every new graduate things just
weren't working out the way I had imagined, but fortunately for me, my
Grandfather saved me and brought me to California to live with him.
This is what happened.

In the Fall of 1984, I was attending Beauty School learning to be a
cosmetologist because it was the only school that my mother would let
me attend while still living at home. However, there were other strings
attached to that as well. I could only go to school if I went to the
meetings, but I was 18 years old and I didn't want to go anymore, but
my mom said I had to live by her rules under her house. I hope I never
say those words.

I was not allowed to go to college despite several scholarships because
Jehovah's Witnesses weren't supposed to do that. I dreamed of going to
college with aspirations of being a genetic engineer, but my mother
would not co-sign on the $1500 student loan for me to pay for room and
board. Instead, I had to give up my track and science scholarships and
stay at home. I couldn't get a bank loan either, I felt trapped as I
saw my dreams of college slip away.

There were other complicating factors that caused this to happen. My
mother had just remarried and now I had two young step-brothers to take
care of and my step-father said he was not going to put anyone through
college partly because one of the neighbor kids down the street had
dropped out of college to be a bartender. I had to pay for her lack of
focus. Needless to say, blending families is tough business and my
mother was more than willing to let my step-father make all the
decisions. I no longer had a say in any matters of the household. I
was now one of the kids.

As I was attending Beauty School, I felt like the worlds biggest loser
because all the girls who didn't have any ambition to go to college
were in my class. After the first month, I was teaching everyone the
chemistry, physiology and mechanics of doing hair while my hair was
falling out in huge clumps. I was going bald and it was extremely
depressing because my mom wouldn't take me to a real doctor, just a
bunch of "healers" that the Jehovah's Witnesses said "cured" people.
Well, after many treatments of macrobiotic vitamin therapy,
electrotherapy and some crazy Cayenne-whiskey topical ointment that
burned my scalp, my hair just fell out faster. I was so frustrated
with the way that I looked, that I told one of my girlfriends to shave
my head. I had decided that it would be better to either be totally
bald or have a full head of hair and my follicles were not cooperating,
so on October 31st, 1984 I put on my mask to hide my shamefully bald
head from the world.

This was the beginning of my temporary slide into depression and as
hard as I tried, I couldn't be happy. My mom was telling all of her
friends that I was bald as she was looking for anyone who could help
her help me, but there wasn't anything anyone could do, I was going to
be bald. End of story.

One day, someone thought they would help me. They dropped off a
horrible wig that they had found in their mother's basement and thought
that I could use it. When I received it, it was the most horrifying
thing I'd ever seen. It had to be at least ten years old and it was in
sad sad shape. But, I took it to school to see if we could salvage it.
My class partner and I washed, conditioned, permed, styled and even
dyed the hairpiece, but it still looked like hell, but I had no other
alternative, but to wear it. When I went home that night, my mom said
it looked good. I guess a covered bald head is better than on that is
not. It was a disaster. I was eighteen years old and had lost my
crowning glory how could I be beautiful in the 1980's when everyone had
so much hair! That night I wrote a letter to my grandfather and poured
out my heart and soul to him. I don't even remember what I said. I
just needed to tell someone how much I needed some help.

As a joke for Halloween, I dressed up as Michael Jackson because he had
recently been in the accident which burned up his hair. I went out for
lunch that day and wore my sunglasses to avoid the questioning eyes of
all the patrons at the Chinese restaurant next door to our school. My
classmates were really supportive and encourage me to be punk rock and
that sounded pretty good, but I wanted to be Madonna with all that
gorgeous hair. That night after dinner I told my mom that I had to get
a new wig or I wouldn't be able to cope with life. As I cried in her
arms I could see that she felt so sad for me because she couldn't fix
me. No matter how hard she tried, I wasn't going to be happy living
at home anymore and despite her best attempts, I was not going to grow
any hair. I didn't feel beautiful or that I had much of a future.

The next day, my mom drove me to the biggest city nearest our town,
Coeur d'Alene, which was 45 minutes away. We went to the only place
that we knew to shop at and that was K Mart. Fortunately, for me, they
had some wigs. Mind you, 20 years ago only grandma bought her wigs at
K Mart. I looked through every one of them and found one that could
be styled and cut to look halfways decent and mom bought it for me. I
was so happy to have a wig, anything was better than that nasty black
spidery thing that had been found in the basement!

At beauty school my partner cut and styled my hair and made me look
like Joan Jett, which was pretty cool for a bald chick. When I went
home that night, my mom wasn't thrilled with my bad girl image, but I
was happy to be me again. Even if I was channeling Pat Benatar and
those women of rock and roll. Things were looking up.

A week or so went by and one day while I was reviewing chemistry
lessons with the class in preparation for one of our tests, one of my
classmates asked me why I was in beauty school? I was dumbfounded and
with my mouth agape, she said I was too smart to be there and that I
should be in college. I didn't know what to say. In that instant she
leveled me to my core in so few words. She was right, I was wasting my
time and only lying to myself in order to maintain my day-to-day
existence. That was it, the straw that broke the camel's back. I just
burst out in tears and couldn't stop. She took me away and let me cry
it out and I felt much better. She was an older woman in her mid-30's
and she knew that I needed to leave. The question was, how?

That night after dinner my mom came to me and gave me a telegram. She
said it was from my Grandpa. I immediately opened and it said, "Come
visit for the holidays. Your plane ticket is at the airport. See you
soon, love Grandpa." I couldn't believe it! My prayers had been
answered. I immediately started shouting, I'm going to California!
I'm going to California! My Grandfather had heard my cry for help and
now I was leaving Idaho with no intention of coming back.

The next day was a blur. I went to school and told my instructors that
I was leaving for California and wasn't sure when or if I'd come back.
Everyone was very excited for me because they knew how much I needed to
get out of out small town. That day I was happier than I had been in
months. My hopes for college were renewed.

Two weeks flew by and most of my days were filled with planning for my
trip. I had to tell my boyfriend who was not happy about me leaving.
He even asked me to marry him to get me to stay, but I knew it wouldn't
work out. He'd cheated on me a couple of times and I just wasn't ready
to get married. I had things to do, places to go and goals to achieve.

My mother took my departure especially hard. She felt like I was
abandoning her. In a way, I was. But, she now had a new husband and I
had my life to live. I couldn't live by their rules anymore. I needed
to find myself and California was the perfect place for me to go.
Finally, departure Saturday arrived and it was minus ten degrees
outside. It was so cold that the tires were stuck in the ice and snow.
Good thing my boyfriend was driving me to the airport for the
three-hour drive because my mom got too nervous driving in snow
conditions. That morning she made me a huge breakfast of all my
favorite foods; pork chops, potatoes and eggs. This was unusual
because I had been eating a very restricted diet for months to cure my
hair loss. I didn't care anymore and I was determined to eat whatever
I wanted. I had dropped down to 79 pounds and looked anorexic. With
no hair on my head, I looked like a cancer treatment patient.

I heard the knock at the door and I looked at my mom knowing this was
the moment we both dreaded. The moment that I was leaving home never
to live with her again. Neither one of us moved to answer the door as
if it weren't happening. Then I jumped up and hugged her and she
cried. I cried too because I knew that this was it. She had done the
best job she could raising me and now I was going out on my own. I
wiped my eyes and turned from her to open the door.

I still remember that cold crisp December morning when my mother looked
out the frosted window as we drove away and I cried because I missed
her already. We both knew that I wouldn't be coming home after the
holidays. My boyfriend tried to console me by telling me that I would
have a great time and would be home soon. After a long silence I
stopped crying and began thinking of my future in California and what
my life would hold for me there.