The last time I talked to my friend and former hair dresser, Susan Fisher, she was worried about someone else.
She said a great deal has happened in Mary’s family (not her real name); you should call her. But she didn’t reveal what had been told to her in confidence—Susan Fisher was not that kind of person.
Since her Bible was her best friend, she respected others who may have divulged their private hearts while sitting elevated in her salon chair. For her, secrets went simply from one chest cavity to another.
I enjoyed my time with Susan; her business, called Hidden Cove, was a treasure no matter what the address. Since I was a starving artist, she offered to sell my humble prose in a basket on a stand or table in her beauty shop. She would save the money for me.
We were in a business group together, seeking to give other members tips on possible business contacts. We gave speeches on what we were about, and offered incentives for our respective businesses.
But what Susan did doesn’t tell who she was. She had an open heart and a faith that comforted and consoled. Her spiritual walk was central to her life. She had vibrant red hair (the latest tint), and a spirit of inclusion. She wasn’t a prude, either, loving to laugh at life which is as good as any hair tonic. That was a truth she carried.
But things were never smooth for long. She battled both breast cancer and kidney disease. And as a proprietor of a small business, it was hard to get and keep good health care if you had a preexisting conditions. (No personal mandate then, nor that much sympathy if you weren’t under a corporate umbrella.)
Inadequate medications, not the better ones that would have worked, had caused her body to reject a kidney she received, resulting in kidney failure.
Her home was like a doll house, clean, sweet, and dear. Her beauty shop, her business, was organized and inviting. She was as gracious as The Prince of Peace.
She had a luminous inner being, and an open door.
Her family relationships weren’t perfect just like the families of the customers she served weren’t perfect. But you became a kin, or certainly a friend, as you shared your walk in life as the latest tint and rinse were poured on your head. She always put a little Jesus in your hair—and you just can’t get that everywhere.
Susan Fisher “flew up” (to heaven) last August.