Don't Silence the Name

 

                    Don't Silence the Name

There was a problem. I was trying to unravel it, processing the conundrum with a friend over the phone. 

“Oh, I know!” she said suddenly. “Let’s apply Roger-wisdom. What do you think he might say?” 

At the mention of my late husband’s name, I froze. Time stopped. I was looking back at the familiar landscape of “us.”  I felt anchored to calm reasoning. Stoic German sensibilities. I could almost hear his voice, steady and measured. 

She said his name. It felt good to hear it again. It had been so long.  

Say Their Name 

Saying their name out loud – it still matters. Whether the grief is raw and ragged, or if it’s mixed into a watercolor memory of decades, it still matters.  

Hospice is good at this, vigilant and thoughtful at honoring your person’s name. Hospice of Warren County has an annual November tradition of hosting a memorial service in which the name of the loved one is read aloud. A simple yet profound time, shared in a hushed community of survivors. To read the name is to offer support to the bereaved; scaffolding them with dignity; shoring them up with strength; gifting them resilience for the ride home. 

Why it Matters 

1.    It’s their legacy. Their mother chose their name when they entered this world and their name remains in hearts and memories when they leave: etched on gravestones, memorialized in public parks, written in the sand, carved onto trees. Their name is whispered in the dark, pushed out through tears, held in silence. 

2.    It’s woven into the widow’s history. Their name is hardwired into her DNA, stitched into her genealogy. 

3.    It’s the echo we lean in to hear. Speaking the name reverberates in the mourner’s body. The mystery of heaven touches earth for a brief, sacred moment. 

4.    It interrupts the present tense in the most disarming and unexpected way. The person grieving doesn’t always dwell in Real Time. When you recall a memory of her loved one, the connective tissue in her heart reaches back – embracing that moment like a rare, splendid gift. 

For me, it’s been 17 years. It’s been a while, yet still feels like yesterday.  

Roger. 

His name is my mile-marker, my stone of remembrance. His name is my watermark – the highest place the water can reach before I go under. Roger is my timekeeper, helping me keep watch over the events that happened when he was with us, and the events that have held a hollow space where he should still be. 

I hear his name frequently, the name our daughters use, “Dad”.  

Dad. 

I love hearing them say it, in reference to just about anything: “Dad would have loved being an Opa!” ... “Dad watched this movie every year.”… “Dad would be so upset about the news right now.”  

And I echo his name back, summoning their tender years; the girls were 18 and 14 when a heart attack snatched him from us.  

I tell them, “Dad is so proud of you, I know it.”  
“You’ve grown into the kind of adult child he would brag on every day.” 

I see his mannerisms in my grandchildren. 

The name, “Dad” is our mainstay as a family. This is why hearing his name, “Roger” hits me sideways. I rarely see it coming. 

And always, I welcome it.  

A Person Dies Twice 

The saying "a person dies twice" refers to the idea that one dies physically and  

again when they are forgotten, emphasizing the importance of memory and  

legacy. 

Ernest Hemingway, nicknamed “Papa” for his mentoring chops, penned these words: “Every man has two deaths: when he is buried in the ground and the last time someone says his name.” 

Feeling as though our lost loved one is forgotten is hurtful. We are marginalized, often urged to “move forward” or to “complete our healing journey.”  

There is no “completion” for the spouse left behind, the one who carries unlived adventures and untold stories.  

Please don’t forget to say the name. Silencing the name, or camouflaging the name with worn out cliches, now that’s the cruelest blow of all.  

Instead, see if you can stitch the name into the fabric of your friend’s every day.

It needn’t be rehearsed or staged. Simply find ways to drop the name in as you would during any casual conversation. 

Even if you didn’t know the deceased, the fact remains you know the survivor. Draw out the stories, ask about favorite colors. Ask the widow or widower how they met and fell in love. 

Your questions are a gentle invitation; a cup of water to a thirsty soul.  

Kathy Joy is a regular contributor to Silver Magazine, which appears monthly in the Post Journal and Times Observer.