Judson was 28 months old when we took him to “Cool Cuts” to get his first haircut.  It was one of those circumstances where you’re not quite sure how your child is going to respond to the new experience, but when Jud was offered the choice between sitting in a race car or fire truck he was immediately a fan.  On top of that, he then got to watch a video of his choice, and for a boy who never watched TV, this was truly paradise.  He chose a Thomas the Tank Engine video, and once it started he was too mesmerized to care one iota about what was being done to his hair.

I recall the hairstylist’s surprise when we informed her that this was his FIRST haircut.  “How old is he?” she inquired with a perplexed look on her face.

You see, Judson did not have a full, think, head of hair, like many his age, we were still waiting for his baby fine hair to fully cover his head.  Yet despite, his propensity toward baldness, the hair that he did have had begun to look scraggly.  Hence, our outing to the local kid’s hair salon.

After informing the stylist that Judson was 28 months old, she replied,” Well, I guess we’ll give him a little trim.”

Little did I know that “little trim” would be Judson’s ONLY haircut.

What I also did not realize was that the little “first haircut” souvenir pouch that the hairstylist filled with a tuft of Judson’s hair as a memento of the experience, in a mere 6 months would become the only tangible piece of our son we would have to hold.

I stumbled upon Judson’s “first haircut” keepsake this evening.

I lost control of my emotions.  I looked at the small, fine, blonde locks and wanted to kiss, hug, nuzzle, smell, and stroke them as if I had just found the most precious treasure known to man.  Yet, they were contained in a plastic pouch that was intended to preserve the integrity of the cache.  So I was relegated to simply gazing at them behind “glass.”

How could it be?  How could it be that my son so quickly vaporized from this world and now all I have left of him is this little pouch of hair?

I pictured all the other snipped pieces of hair that fell from Jud’s head that day and were likely swept into a dustpan and thrown into the trash as waste, yet these few strands escaped to become one of my most valuable possessions here on earth.  Oh, how I wish I could go back to that day and collect every last strand of hair…but this is it.  This is all that remains of my boy.  This is all I have to hold.

Oh gosh!  I miss him so!!