What is your name? Or should I say . . . names?
Why did your parents give you your first and middle names? Do you have more than three names?
Let’s focus on middle names. Why do you have that name?
For me it’s George. As far as I know, it was chosen because it was Dad’s middle name. Beyond that spare early fact, George later inspired personal connections to cartoon characters and World War II heroes. During high school a few jokingly called me “George of the Jungle,” a reference to a dumb cartoon on television. There was also the famous World War II military figure, General George Patton (and by the by, his PattOn spelling seems to outnumber my PattEn ). The Patten/Patton similarity prompted some “general” nicknames. And let’s not forget the nursery figure, Georgie-Porgie*. When bad as a kid, my little used middle name served as a warning for impending doom. If my parents demanded that Lawrence George Patten come to them right now, it was Trouble, with a capital T.
What about your middle name? What’s the history? Has it prompted lasting nicknames or is it part of lifelong family stories?
But why ponder names when my usual subject is hospice?
I recall a year-end Remembrance Service at the hospice where I once worked. I sat near a family while our hospice chaplains led the service. Midway through the worship experience, the names of recently deceased loved ones were read. The ringing of a brass prayer (or singing) bowl followed each name. Speaking the name, accompanied with the pure, lingering tone of the bowl, felt elegant and appropriate.
After hearing one particular name, a child behind me whispered: That’s Daddy.
Our Remembrance Service was brief. It included elements from several different religions and didn’t prioritize one faith over another. It was a service that could resonate with the faithful and those weary or wary of religion. It gave an opportunity for everyone to honor their beloved. Its design included accessible (and universal) symbols like roses, water, and light.
Still, for all its brevity, the service might bore children!
Until they hear a parents’ name.
They know that name.
And probably every kid has a nickname for the lovely and loving family member who has just died: like Daddy or Mommy or Pops or Ma. And with beloved grandparents, there’s Nana and Gramps or Grandma and Papa. The name and nickname and the relationship are part of the ongoing tone of a child’s life.
Each of our names claims a history. Each of our names continues to help create a family’s living story when we include them in conversations. Too often, after a loved one’s death, we hesitate to speak the name. I hope you don’t. I hope you keep sharing the name in all of the wonderful, whimsical, and wacky stories of your family.
However, I understand why some can’t or won’t say the name. In the grief groups I’ve facilitated, we usually had a time, early in the group’s life, when participants were invited to share a few introductory thoughts about themselves. Often, they will include the loved one’s name. Or I should say, she or he tried to include the name. But it’s too emotional. It’s too soon after the death. Saying the name aloud was like opening a flimsy, hastily built door and suddenly all of the weeping and memories and regrets charge through with a vengeance. If you don’t speak the name, you might avoid falling apart. If you don't speak the name, you might avoid embarrassing tears, ragged breathing, or exposing raw feelings.
For many (but not for all), they were able to speak and share their beloved’s name near the end of the group’s sessions. Trust had been built. A lifetime of healing was underway. Saying the name invited good memories and gentler tears.
Names matter. Put the name on a new Christmas stocking. Include it in holiday letters. If you are able, donate to an organization that honors your loved one’s values and may also post his or her name. Some of your dearest friends or closest family memories may not want to speak the name for fear of upsetting you . . . and so, when you are ready, be the first to share the name to give others permission.
As is so often the case, I learn from children. I hear a name read and it’s immediately followed by a quiet, assured . . . That’s Daddy. It is a Daddy with a first, middle, and last name. It is the Daddy who, with an unfair sadness, and with a loss that will always impact that child’s (and family’s) life, has a name worth speaking and remembering.
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My book, A Companion for the Hospice Journey, is available at Amazon.
* Georgie Porgie, Pudding and pie,
Kissed the girls and made them cry,
When the boys came out to play,
Georgie Porgie ran away.