Namesake

Namesake

When a name is more than just a name.

         Some people have names that have been passed down from one generation of a family to the next. Others have names chosen by their parents because of the meaning they hold or the reminders they evoke. Still others have names chosen simply because the parents liked that name.

         Names are important for many reasons. Identification of the individual is certainly one of the main values of a name. How difficult it would be if all men shared one name and all women shared another! Whatever your name is, and however it was chosen for you, be proud of it. The person you are and the way you lead your life has a direct bearing on the images and feelings your name stirs up in those who know you.

         Do nicknames, also, have value? Most certainly they do! Nicknames are special names that are given by friends and families based on who you really are and what you do. Strangers may not understand their personal meanings without explanation, but those who love you know exactly what they mean.

         When my daughter was two years old she loved hats. Everything she found wound up on her head and she pretended it was a hat. Pans were hats and plates were hats, toys were hats and shoes were hats. One day she emptied the papers out of the waste can in her room and it became her favorite hat! She could almost hide underneath it, she was so small and it was so big! She called it a bucket, so when she put it over her head, we called her "Silly Buckethead." Soon, every time she put something on her head she would say: "Silly Buckethead!" Therefore, that became her nickname for a long time. People looked at us funny when we were out and called our pretty little girl "Silly Buckethead", but to us it was not an insult but a term of endearment.

         When I was pregnant with our second child we decided upon the names Fallon Mackenzie for a girl and Nathaniel Mackenzie for a boy. Since Mackenzie was to be used either way, we called our unborn child Mack. For five long months this child was known as Mack, and when she was born, a little tiny slip of a girl barely tipping the scale to six pounds, she was still Mack. It took a long time to get used to calling her Fallon. Now Fallon is going on twelve years of age and, yes, sometimes she still gets called Mack.

         Just as we learned I was pregnant with our third child, my brother was killed in a tragic car accident. My brother and I were very close. We were exactly two years apart in age, I the older, both being born on December 30. We were very much alike, Andy and I...not only did we have similar features and coloring, but we looked at life the same way, felt with deep emotions, and were often hurt because of them. As children, we moved often due to our father's job. Because of this, we did not easily pour our hearts out to make friends we knew we would only leave behind. Of seven children in the family, Andy and I were closest to each other than to any of the others. Our two older brothers had each other. The three younger children were like the three musketeers: "All for one and one for all!" That left Andy and I to be there for each other, and we always were. We knew that if we needed a shoulder to cry on, the other would be right there. We knew that when we needed to talk, the other had a listening and understanding ear. We knew when to come closer and offer comfort and we knew when to keep our distance and let the other work things through on their own. We could fight like mortal enemies when we disagreed, each passionate for their side of the argument, but in the end, we knew the other would be the first to step up and defend the other were the attack to come from outside.

         All of that changed on May 28, 1992.

         At about midnight, May 27-28, 1992 I sat bolt upright in bed. Something was wrong, I knew it, but I had no idea what it was. I tossed and turned all night until it was finally 5 a.m. and I had to get up to make my husband's lunch so he could go to work. That morning I was to call Andy and invite him over for dinner. We wanted him to be the first to know about the baby, and we wanted to know what he thought of having a "namesake." We still loved the name Nathaniel, but we were thinking of pairing it with Andrew, out of love for my brother.

         I never got to make that phone call because my mother called to tell me that Andy had been in a car wreck on his way home from work at a little after midnight and he had not survived. In an instant my world was forever changed!

         Four weeks of grief and despair whirled past and one morning I couldn't wake up to get Tim's lunch. He had tried to wake me but was unable to do so. Pregnancy had worn me out in the past, so he went off to work with no lunch figuring that I would get up later and everything would be fine. I did get up later. I felt bad that I had not gotten up earlier to make Tim's lunch so I got our little girls dressed, made a lunch, and took off for his office 15 miles away. I didn't feel real well, but I was pregnant, it was morning...need I say more?

         When I got to the office, though, I stood up and blood was everywhere! Tim put in a call to my obstetrician and then rushed me to the hospital emergency room. There the doctors were certain I had lost the baby, there was so much blood. An ultrasound, however, revealed surprising results: an 11-12 week old fetus with heart beating strong appeared on the screen. From my nurse's training I knew what I was looking at, and there, bigger than life, I could see my baby's face. He was beautiful. Even more beautiful at that moment, however, was the strong steady flutter within his tiny chest!

         The doctors did all they could for me without risking the baby. They sent me home with strict orders to stay in bed, only getting up to use the bathroom, and even then, only when absolutely necessary. That was not an easy thing to do with a six-year old and an almost two-year old at home! After two weeks I went to my doctor and she said bed-rest was the order of the day and would be until further notice.

         I had so much time to think, and all I could think of was Andy. Looking through the baby name books, Tim and I stuck with our choice of Nathaniel. In the book we had, "God's gift" was given as the meaning. Indeed, I felt that this baby would be a gift from God...a gift I was working hard to safeguard and protect from harm. We could not, however, decide upon a middle name. Even though we had wanted to name the baby after Andy, now that he was gone, it was too difficult. It was all I could do to think of Andy's name. How could I call it out were I to give that name to my child? The sorrow and grief that my family was experiencing was overwhelming. Giving this child Andy's name would be too much of a reminder to us all of what we had lost with Andy's death.

         A few months later my sister arrived as usual to help me with the children. This time, though, she had brought a box of cards from Andy's room. They were cards he had received from friends and family through the years. That night when she went home, she left them for me to look at. Somehow, knowing how others felt about him warmed and comforted my heart and told me I was not as alone as I felt. For days I read the cards, crying at the sorrows they held, laughing at the tales of good times, and absorbing the love his friends had had for him. Eventually I came to the last item in the box. It was a note that one of Andy's friends had slipped into his high school locker. Jeff had written about their plans for the weekend, what movie they would see, etc. It was a typical high school note passed between classes when friends didn't have the time to talk to one another, as they would have liked.

         I pressed the note to my heart and refolded it along the worn lines. I wondered why Andy had kept it all those years, but the mere fact that he had was enough to make it important to me. It was a moment in his life, and I wanted to collect as many of those moments as I could and keep them in my heart. As I finished folding the paper I saw it...the name Andy's friends had always called him...

         You see Andy didn't have only a first name and a middle name like many people. He also had a third name before our last name. Prior to Andy's birth, as Tim and I were doing, our parents had chosen the names they liked. They both liked the name Andrew, but Dad wanted to call him John Andrew, and Mom wanted to call him Andrew Mark. Unable to come to a decision, they named him John Andrew Mark. We all called him Andy because that was the one name they had both agreed upon. That made his initials J.A.M.C.

         Andy was always happy. You rarely saw him without his big smile and playful sparkle in his eyes. When Andy walked, he had a spring in his step that made him look like he could break out into a dance number at any moment. These qualities, along with his initials, earned him the nickname "JAMin' Andy", lovingly bestowed upon him by his friends at school. Jammin', of course, was a popular term at the time that indicated dancing.

         So, as I sat there looking at the letter through tear-blurred eyes, the inscription on the outside caught my attention. The quick sloppy scrawl of a high school boy had emblazoned the phrase "Ben JAMin', Andy?" crosswise on the folded rectangle. I copied it into my journal, wanting to preserve this carefree moment from my brother's life.

         Later that day I turned my attention to the baby name book once again, searching for a middle name to go with Nathaniel. Page by page, name by name, front to back, back to front. The girls were quietly watching a video as I lay resting on the sofa. I was almost asleep when the phone roused me. The book slipped from my grasp, landing open on the floor and bending a few of the pages.

         "Wrong number," I grumbled, picking up the book. As I flattened out the crumpled pages, something caught my attention. There, at the top of the page, was the name Benjamin. I wrote it several times in my notebook, wondering why it looked so familiar. I didn't know anyone named Benjamin, at least I hadn't since I was a small child. The book said that the name meant "A surety." In the topsy-turvy, emotion-filled world my life had become, I could use something sure. I turned to the page where Tim and I were keeping track of the names we were considering and added Benjamin to the list.

         By the end of the week it was decided. Nathaniel Benjamin would be our baby's name if the baby were a boy. The family would not be upset, having to call the baby by Andy's name, and yet, Andy would still have a namesake, although it would not be obvious to all. For, you see, not only is Benjamin a proper name, it was, in a way, Andy's nickname...and a legacy our son would carry with him of the uncle he dearly loves, yet never knew.

         Andy would have loved this child. In Nathaniel I see Andy's constant smile. The same spark of fun and life lights up in his eyes when he grins, and the same spring of carefree joy bounces in his every step. My son...my gift from God...a sure thing...Nathaniel BenJAMin'...my brother's namesake.