The Last Haircut
The last time I saw my father I didn’t at the time realize it would be the last time. He had his first stroke around the time I was finishing my first year of medical school and with each successive stroke he lost a little more ground and capability and this culminated with his last hospitalization with skilled nursing “placement” as it would no longer be possible for his care to be managed at home by my Mom. I was traveling back and forth when possible from Las Vegas to Upstate New York. Both my sister and I tried to convince my parents to either move west to be with me or north to Montreal with my sister. They resisted.
To understand what I found so distressing when I arrived on what ended up being my final visit, you would have to know that my Dad had been a career Air Force noncommissioned officer joining the new Air Force after serving in the Army in WWII. Like many men who served during that era my Dad’s preferred haircut was a buzz-cut “high and tight” and while he let it get just a bit longer on the top as he aged, his hair was never ever “long” or “shaggy” as he might have have said about mine from time to time growing up. He was never anything other than clean shaven in my whole life. In fact when I was about to embark on my officer basic training between year 1 and 2 of medical school he convinced me of the importance of showing up looking like I “belonged” to include shaving my beard and getting a buzz cut, or they might “change their mind.” This piece of advice resulted in me being the only medical student attending that particular office basic course at Ft Polk Louisiana who didn’t have to be a part of the group haircut.
From before his last hospitalization to when I saw him this time was probably 3 months and apparently haircuts weren’t a thing at this particular facility so my Dad’s hair was probably as long as it had ever been in his life and he had a pretty substantial beard. I almost didn’t recognize him.
“Dad”, “What’s going on with your hair” He shrugged, he had a pretty dense aphasia by now and couldn’t really communicate much by speaking. I went out and spoke to one of the nurses and they indicated that he had been offered to have someone trim his hair and shave him but he had declined this regularly and they don’t push too hard on this. When I went back I asked “Dad, how about we get you shaved and maybe figure out a way to cut your hair.” He was not having it, shaking his head no. Like he probably had with them.
I persisted.
“Dad” “You are a Chief Master Sergeant of the United States Air Force, retired, someone who served honorably during 3 wars.” “ I want the people here to know that and have no doubts about that by looking at you.” As I spoke those words he sat up just a little taller and pulled his shoulders back and nodded his acceptance.
Starting with a shave and then a haircut with borrowed clippers from the nursing station my cautious effort revealed my Dad who was for that moment back to his old self. I remember saying “there” when I was done and him smiling and nodding ever so slightly when I showed himself in a handheld mirror. I can’t really remember much else about that day. About a month later he passed peacefully in his sleep after developing pneumonia. After many many years I still regret not being there. My consolation is I was able to give him his last haircut.