Stepping into the shower, I find some of my loved one’s hair curled on the drain screen. How often that unintended memento annoyed me: how my loved one always forgot to pick out, after showering, that shed relic of mortality. A wad of hair, I regarded it then. Now, my loved one gone aboard a plane into the thin air of the sky, I regard it a lock of hair, and I realize if my loved one never returned I would fish that lock of hair out of the wastebasket and sleep with it under my pillow the rest of my life.