This is not so much a story, but memory.  Any and everytime I comb and blow-dry both of your grand-daughter's hair, I feel myself with you, sitting on our bathroom countertop/sink, watching you in the mirror while you comb and blow-dry my hair.  It is funny how such a simple act can become such a defining act once you know you can never have it back.  Maybe you have heard me calling for you even now when I go to comb my hair, wishing you'd come brush it out and blow-dry it for me.   I miss you so...