Her godmother was wearing a blue and yellow cap when she opened the door.
It wasn’t an accessory. It was a way of covering what cancer treatment had taken from her—that part of her identity whose weight you don’t realize until it’s gone.
Carol knew it and decided to do something you can’t buy in any store. She cut her hair, the hair she may have cared for over the years, and turned it into a wig for her.
“She’s my godmother… Ever since I was little, I remember how much she cared for my hair. She always did my hair and taught me to love it. Today, it was my turn to give it back to her in a different way”
When her godmother saw what was inside, her expression crumpled.
Some gifts are measured in money, and others in what it costs to give them up. This one belongs to the latter: a piece of herself so someone else could look in the mirror again without feeling incomplete.