A BAD TRICK
My dad was bald all my life. Three months after his death, I lose my hair from chemotherapy. Alone in front of the mirror, I take in my new look and my stomach sinks; it's too familiar, I see my dad - I have the same shape head as him. I looked at the top of his head a lot his last few years; he passed his days looking down to complete Italian crossword puzzles. From being hunched over for so long, he couldn't straighten his neck so I'd have to reposition myself to make eye contact with him. There is no escaping my grief - every time I look in the mirror, I'm reminded that the man I come from is deceased; it's a bad trick seeing myself in the mirror, it's like revisiting my dad. Is this an ode to my dad, or is it a sign I'll be joining him soon? I'm not sure, but I tear up in the mirror a lot, for more reasons than one.