My Name
Often, people ask, “What was the most difficult part of your journey through Alzheimer’s with your husband?” For me, my reply comes easily. “My name.” Puzzled looks usually accompany the answer.
With AD, the absence of audible expression almost always comes long before death. It fades slowly, but after years of fearing what would go next, the dearth of words is unmistakable. When the person who has committed their life and love to you, now rendered unable to even speak your name is, to me, the greatest sting of grief.
Oddly, gratitude rode along with the pain. Trying to hold the vapor of life within my grasp, the simple things were never taken for granted. In the decline, I was provoked to document each utterance in case it was the last.
It comes as a surprise to me that some don’t get it. But maybe I’m different. I was always taught that identifying a person by their name is a form of care and respect. To hear or be addressed by your individual name takes one from being general to special. Even the English language gives capitalization to names. Your name exists in the proper form of nouns, not the common.
Lifelong habits. The bag boy, the cashier, anyone I interact with who is wearing a name tag won’t just get a thank you from me. They get, “Thank you, Marcia. Thank you, Dillon.” These were the things taught to be common courtesy. But as I get older, I realize it’s much more than that.
Eighty percent of the time, they look up. Most are taken by surprise. Instinctively, eye contact is made, and a smile begins to emerge. Scientifically, when that happens, endorphins are released into the bloodstream. Those are the good hormones that bring joy.
Isn’t that ironic? Jesus says He calls us by name. Love calls us by name. God made us precisely for interaction, not isolation. There is deep longing in our hearts to be heard or acknowledged by one another, yet so many of us miss the opportunity.
We’re told to ‘love thy neighbor’ and often we get twisted up thinking of the homeless, the sick and those we wish to make amends with, ignoring the able bodies who cross our paths momentarily. We owe others the respect of their presence in our lives, no matter how brief.
At the end of my days the number of smiles I’ve caused will remain unknown. But I do know this: goodness multiplies. We are here to do the work of Jesus, and He calls me by name.
