Warning: one of the many side* effects of grief appears to be grey hair.
I used to find a grey hair every month or so. I have dark hair, so the greys stand out. I would pluck the shimmering offender,** and move on, gloating on the inside that I'd reached the age of 35 with barely a grey hair to speak of, and I come from a long line of folks who go grey early.
Alas, the gloating and the grief have caught up with me. I was in the bathroom at work today and as I tried to tame my messed-up nest with my hand, I found a treasure-trove of grey. More than I could count. More than I could pluck! Alas, there was little to deny, and while I did become briefly angry and considered making a few bargains, I now seem to be stuck between depression and acceptance.
I know it's not just the grief. The kids, the genetics . . . so be it.
*I first mistyped that as dies. Oops.
**I know, I know, you're not supposed to pluck them. But how could I resist?