Denise

  Denise walked in to the salon on a Tuesday night.  She was medium height with short wavy red hair and olive skin. Her hair color was slightly off.   “No one knows how to fucking cut hair.”  Oh shit.  She was my worst nightmare: a former hairdresser.   Our stylist/customer relationship began. 
Denise did her own color (why it was a little off) I did fix it for her once under her direction of course.  I liked her.  Denise reminded me of myself in some ways.   She said what she meant and meant what she said. Like me.  We got along great, she was never afraid to tell me anything.  “You really scalped me last time.”  “This time, not so short okay??”  Like I said no fear.  
She had two grown children and four grandchildren.  Denise was very close to her sister I met her once when she came to get her hair cut.  Every six weeks like a clock Denise was in my chair.  There was always an underlying stress in her brown eyes, a sadness that lay under the surface.   I didn’t ask.   I figured when she was ready she would tell me.   Or not, which was fine too.
Denise ran a restaurant with her husband.  I’ve had several customers in the restaurant business and they all tell me how stressful it is.  Then Denise started talking about her daughter, Carrie.  Carrie was a drug addict and lived with her drug dealer/addict boyfriend.   Looking at this woman always seemed to have it all together you would never think she had a druggie daughter.  How could this hard working business owner have a kid on drugs??  Her son was a normal well-adjusted guy with a wife and kid.   I listened and asked the obvious questions.  Denise had heard it all before but I was trying to help.  She had already given her a job (she couldn’t handle work).  Tried to get her help in and out of rehab, and her daughter had 3 children from 3 different fathers all who wanted nothing to do with Carrie.  Denise and her sister took care of the children. How does a fucking drug addict have not one but 3 kids when there are perfectly healthy people who can’t is a subject for another blog. But what the fuck!?
Time passed and Denise took a trip to Alaska to visit her nephew.   She had an amazing time, but she had some back pain. “I must have overdone it” she said, the pain persisted so Denise went to the doctor.  I could tell she was a little nervous the doctor had run some tests and she was waiting for results.  I had a bad feeling.  When Denise came back she told me she had pancreatic cancer that had already spread to her liver.  She was starting chemo immediately.   When Denise came back six weeks later she was about 30 pounds lighter.  Her hair once thick was now one third of its thickness.  She decided not to make another appointment since she was losing her hair, I agreed.  She talked about her treatment, the fact that she had to close the restaurant.  If not for insurance she said they would have lost everything.  The treatment was so expensive.  Denise said she would call depending on how her hair was doing.  I will never forget what Denise said to me when she left. 
“This is really fucked up.”  That was the last time I ever saw her.
In March of that next year I was thinking about Denise I punched her name in to the computer and her obituary came up. She was diagnosed in October and died in March of the next year.  Almost one year to the date that my own mother had passed.  I just sat and cried. This lady worked her ass off raised kids started a business and practically raised her grandchildren to die horribly at the age of 56.
In this business we are taught not to get too close to people.  I wish I could be a colder person.   I think of Denise from time to time, especially in March.  I think of her daughter, who in my opinion aided in her mother’s death.  Is she still a druggie? Is she even alive??  What about her children, who takes care of them now?  I wonder if Denise would still be alive if she only had her son. 
R.I.P Denise K.   A real nice lady.