The Matriarchy
In a time of isolation and transition, I found myself wanting to preserve this family history, these memories, these relationships, and bonds I share with these women. I became absorbed by the roles of the Matriarchy we all assembled, Grandmother, Mother, Daughter, Sister. I thought of these roles and which ones I inhabited, I collected each strand of my hair and reflected on this liminal stage of my life where I am a daughter, a sister but not yet a mother, if ever. As my cousins welcome daughters and my eldest sister edges closer to motherhood I find myself reflecting on those intimate moments we all shared, held together by our hair braided so tightly you’d get a headache. It was a time for closeness and now as I am alone and far from any of these women, my hair is a consistent connection and reminder of them and our Matriarchy.
When I was little, every day before school I would sit in my Mom’s bathroom and admire her red long hair, it was thick and shiny. She straightened it every morning because her “hair was wavy but not the pretty kind of wave” she would say.
I called her in September after a short meltdown that ended with me cutting off all of my hair. It curled into little circles on the floor and I began to think about who gave me this hair, where do I get my curls, what side of my family did I inherit this reddish dark brown color from? I called her and cried and she told me about how straight my hair was when I was little and how I was the only one of my siblings born without blonde hair. I thought about each curl on the floor, each strand of hair that held a memory of when my grandmother would brush my hair before church or when my cousins taught me how to french braid during Christmas.