Mom sat in the kitchen this morning, dining richly on her toast and milk. She concentrated intensely on the Daybreak section of the paper with a pen clutched tightly in her fist. She drew a "v" with her eyebrows and admitted, "I'm really no good at crossword puzzles." I laughed, as I knew this was the expected reaction. Then, she ran a hand over her thick cap of hair and sighed. Looking over at her, she made eye contact and shrugged. "Do you know what today is?"

"The nineteenth," I answered.

"No. This is the day that I begin to lose my hair. Again."