What started as a joke turned into one of the most amazing gifts a mother could ever receive from her son.
Matt Shaha, from Arizona, spent nearly three years growing out his hair to make a wig for his mother, Melanie, who lost her hair after receiving radiation treatment.
“It’s a no-brainer,” Matt said. “She gave me the hair in the first place.”
Melanie had been battling a benign brain tumor for years. She had two surgeries in 2003 and 2006 to remove the tumor. But in 2017, when the tumor came back, she had to start radiation treatment.
“I asked my doctor, ‘Will I lose my hair?’ and they said ‘No,’” Melanie said.
But three months later, she did lose her hair.
“It’s hard when you don’t have hair. People can say things that hurt your feelings,” Melanie told Today. “I don’t mind being sick, but I mind looking sick. I’d rather blend in at the store.”
Not long after Melanie started losing her hair, her 27-year-old son Matt jokingly said he would grow out his hair and make a wig for her.
Even though Melanie thought it was a sweet offer but didn’t want to burden him, Matt was serious about it. He spent the next two and a half years growing his hair long enough to make a wig.
When Matt’s hair was long enough, he and a few coworkers went to his mom’s house to cut it off. Melanie said, “We were super pumped, and when they started cutting, we bawled.”
Matt even paid $2,000 to have the wig made. They found a wigmaker who hand-stitched the hair to make it lighter and more comfortable. Once the wig was delivered, Melanie had it cut and styled.
“Seeing her in it was the first time I had seen my mom look like that since she lost her hair, so it’s been about four years,” Matt said.
Melanie loved her new look and felt deeply touched by her son’s gift. “It sure fills your emotional cup,” she said.
Look at the joy on Melanie’s face! Even Matt is beaming with happiness. I love this for both of them and their family.
Please share this heartwarming story.
I Allowed a Homeless Woman to Stay in My Garage—One Day I Walked in Unannounced and Was Shocked by What I Saw
I tapped the steering wheel, trying to shake the weight on my chest, when I spotted a disheveled woman digging through a trash can. I slowed down, drawn in by her grim determination.
She looked fragile yet fierce, fighting for survival. Without thinking, I pulled over, rolled down my window, and asked, “Do you need help?”
Her response was sharp but tired: “You offering?”
“I just saw you there,” I admitted, stepping out. “It didn’t seem right.”
“What’s not right is life,” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “You don’t strike me as someone who knows much about that.”
“Maybe not,” I replied, then asked if she had a place to stay.
“No,” she said, and I felt compelled to offer my garage as a temporary home. To my surprise, she accepted, albeit reluctantly.
Over the next few days, we shared meals and conversations. Lexi’s sharp wit broke through my loneliness, but I could sense her hidden pain.
One afternoon, I barged into the garage and froze. There, sprawled across the floor, were grotesque paintings of me—chains, blood, a casket. Nausea hit me.
That night, I confronted her. “What are those paintings?”
Her face went pale. “I didn’t mean for you to see them. I was just… angry.”
“So you painted me as a monster?” I demanded.
She nodded, shame in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I struggled to forgive her. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
The next morning, I helped her pack and drove her to a shelter, giving her some money. Weeks passed, and I felt the loss of our connection.
Then, a package arrived—another painting. This one was serene, capturing a peace I hadn’t known. Inside was a note with Lexi’s name and number.
My heart raced as I called her. “I got your painting… it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I didn’t know if you’d like it,” she replied.
“You didn’t owe me anything,” I said, reflecting on my own unfairness.
“I’m sorry for what I painted,” she admitted. “You were just… there.”
“I forgave you the moment I saw that painting. Maybe we could start over.”
“I’d like that,” she said, a smile evident in her voice.
We made plans to meet again, and I felt a flicker of hope for what could be.
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