The Hair Dryer
I spent the afternoon with a friend today. We talked about relationships — how far we’ve come, and the ways we’ve learned to mend and nurture them. During our conversation, a special memory of my mom came to mind.
Our relationship was complicated. As I shared my journey of being her caregiver, I realized how deeply that experience shaped me. Though it’s been several years since she passed, it still feels like yesterday. I now have a profound appreciation for caregivers everywhere — for the challenges, the tears, but also for the joys, the magic, and the unexpected healing that caregiving can bring.
Back then, I was caring for my mom while also helping my in-laws, working full-time, and managing life with my husband away for work during the week. It was, to say the least, a challenging time. Yet even in the hardest moments, I found compassion and love growing stronger — both for my loved ones and for myself.
We tried to keep my mom as independent as possible, allowing her to stay in her own home even as her health declined. She was a private person, but I often think back to my childhood and the moments we shared in that tiny mountain home in northern Idaho.
We only had one bathroom, and she would sometimes retreat there for a quiet bath — probably her only moment of solitude. I, however, saw it as the perfect time to have my mom’s undivided attention. She would sit in the tub, bubbles all around her, while I perched on the toilet seat talking about my day, asking endless questions, or sharing my deepest secrets. She never once asked me to leave — though I’m sure she might have wanted that peace and quiet.
Years later, those memories came full circle. I would sit with her on her bed while she wore her bonnet hair dryer, the warm hum filling the room as we watched TV together. When her health declined, I helped her with her showers and personal care. I would step into the shower, fully clothed, pants rolled up, washing her back and feet — getting soaked and not caring one bit.
Afterward, I’d wrap her in a towel, sit her in the warm bathroom, and gently blow-dry her hair. My mom had the most beautiful jet-black hair — long, thick, and shiny, with only a few strands of gray. It took time to dry it all, and during those quiet moments, I felt something sacred. She would close her eyes, fully at peace, and I understood that the power of touch and presence is the greatest medicine of all.
My mom has been gone for several years now, but I still use that same hair dryer. Each time I pull it from the drawer, I whisper a thank-you — for her love, for the lessons, and for reminding me to slow down and cherish how sacred life truly is.
To all the caregivers out there: I see you. I know how hard you’re working. You are not alone. To those that are being cared for: allowing yourself to be cared for can be the greatest gift you can give to your loved ones. You are teaching us so much by showing us to slow down and to savor each moment, because we may never get this time back. We only get one chance to get this right so sharing in this reciprocity of love is truly a gift in the end. Surrounding each of you with so much love.
If you are seeking knowledge and support for caregiving and especially looking for support while caring for your loved one at the end of life, please reach out to me directly for guidance and support or go to my website for FREE resources https://doulagiversofidahopnw.doulagiverslegacyleaders.com/events-free-resource
XO, Christine
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