When I stepped into my father’s hospital room this afternoon I paused. For a brief moment I thought I was in the wrong room. I glanced around and everything seemed in order, but I knew something was off. As I set down my things and turned to look at my dad it hit me, he didn’t really look like himself.

His face had been shaved.

I’ve only ever seen my father with facial hair, whether it was just a mustache or a full goatee. The pictures from my parents’ wedding and a few from my very early childhood show him clean-shaven, but I have no memory of it.

I cornered someone and asked them what happened and they said the nurse asked him if he wanted a shave and he said yes and fell promptly to sleep, so they went ahead and shaved him. He hasn’t been making too many decisions lately, so the fact that they decided to do that without consulting anyone was infuriating.

It may sound silly or trifle, but it hurt us deeply. With everything we have been through over the past few months, and as uncertain as the waters are that we now tread, we want to be able to stare into and talk to a familiar face. It felt like a violation, a punch to the gut, they had crossed a line.

As sad as I am about it, I know I’ll adjust and hopefully soon I’ll get used to it. I love spending time with him and I’m grateful for every minute we get together.

Thank you for your continued prayers. We could really use them. ❤️