She wanted to make it a festive affair, the going-away party for her hair.
It was August 2014, a warm summer evening in Denver. She and her wife invited two of their closest friends to their condominium. Together they had dinner. They ate chocolate for desert. They told stories. And they laughed and laughed like it was just another carefree, contented night in the growing shadows of the Rocky Mountains.
Then Jillion Potter, age 28, said it was time to say goodbye.
She gazed outside the window as the last blush of light streaked across the red-orange Colorado sky—she always savored the magic of the Mile High sky at sunset—then she took a seat on a bar stool in the living room.