I got my hair cut today

I got my hair cut today.  I wanted to cut it off myself.  I wanted to pull it out.   Or to shave it off.  Maybe clip chunks of it out to show my grief and pain.  Instead, I sat there and had it shampooed and cut as if this life was all normal. I feel I know why ancient people cut their hair off or laid down by their loved ones in a fire to join them.  Because it was an outward showing of the pain and loss.  However, we are civilized.  Civilized is not what I feel. I feel anger, red hot rage and fire.  I want to feel the scissors cut and rip my hair.  I want to shave every hair from my head.  I want to feel the despair-- but no I sit and have her put conditioner on my head, massaging life back into my scalp.    Life. Is there life after grief?  Is there life after death?  No my death, not his death.  He has life.  He is happy and free from pain.  I have no life after death.  I have a need to peel away the skin and hair and get to my bones to get rid of the pain, the grief, the rage, the waste of feeling.  Cry enough tears to fill a cup.  Throw the cup at the wall.  Thank you for cutting my hair.  It looks so nice.

Now I can go shave it off.