What's in a name?

This week has been quite a tough one, emotionally speaking. I’m sure I am not the only person to have found out that someone close has used up a child name before you had the chance to. And of course, that is their right and not at all their fault or problem. But I’m going to write a little about this because it has been plaguing my thoughts since I heard the ‘good news’…

When I was in my teens, I used to walk through a local church yard on my way down to the near-by riverside. I am not a church-goer, but have always admired different churches and enjoyed reading headstones as I pass them by. There is something quite beautiful about old decrepit stones and statues, and a particular favourite of mine happens to be at the entrance to this church, just a couple of feet beyond the wrought iron arched gate. This statue is of an angel and stands peacefully in memorium for a young woman called Evelyn Grace. Hers is such a sad and solemn little face; she makes me wonder about the girl she represents and how she came to be put back into the earth at such a young age. All the hopes her parents must have had for her. All the admirers she may have had but been too young to recognise. I imagined her as someone with simplistic and natural beauty. Someone a little introverted and shy.

Ok so I really haven’t a clue. But such was the way my own teenage mind worked at the time. The reason I mention this, though, is that the name became a personal favourite. There are others I like, some of which have stood the test of time. Florence, for example. I used that on the cat since I had her after a round of fertility treatment had failed and felt (at that time) like I may as well use it on the cat as I was never going to get the chance to use it on my own daughter! But Evelyn- that was different. There was no way I was going to use that one, because the little grain of hope remained in me and I knew my husband would never allow me to call our child the same name as a family pet (I know this because I tried to win that one in a discussion and lost miserably).

When people asked casually about the names we had picked for our son and/or daughter, I felt that sensation of panic rise in my chest. What if they like it too? What if someone ‘steals’ my names? These, after all, are the names me and my husband both like AND agree on. That means they are sacred! (You should have heard some of HIS suggestions over the years…).

The arrival of other people’s babies over the last decade have been very painful. I wanted to be a good friend. I wanted to be involved. But I found it so debilitating and draining at the mere thought, that I admit I failed in the end. I lost friendships and part of me is still very angry at myself for letting this happen. The other part, the self-preserving part, feels hurt that others did not do more to reach me in those difficult times. I mean, here I was, alone and in excruciating pain, and there they were, blissfully ignorant and happy and hopeful. I digress… For each name that came with each pregnancy announcement and birth announcement, I felt a little relieved that I disliked most of them (meow!). But more so because my names were ‘safe’ for just a little while longer. Long enough for a round of treatment perhaps.

My names were Evelyn for a girl and James (Jim) for a boy. Warm, classic and pretty names that would stand the test of time and alter according to their owner’s personality. Names I would feel proud to announce at any occasion, or call angrily across a car park. Names that would look elegant and beautiful on a wedding certificate or a business card, or on the inside of a pair of plimsolls.

SO obviously the name Evelyn has now been taken. I was relieved to know that my husband actually understood my feelings on this one. He was great actually. He cut to the chase when he told me, but also told me he knew I would find this difficult. He then told me he totally understood that my tears were no reflection of my daughters through adoption-which it absolutely is not because I adore my girls and accept the names they came with. But I cried. When the children saw me in tears and looked concerned, and my husband put them in my arms to try to offer me support, they giggled. This made me laugh too, but I was still crying with the laughter. I felt so guilty for being upset over a name. Worse than that, an action of an old friend. Worse that than, even, for being upset about what might have been even though I have been so incredibly lucky to have been given the children I now have. Who are so beautiful. So full of character. So terribly mucky and naughty, but utterly hilarious and charming with it. If I am honest, I have felt pretty down about it all since.

We are planning on using Evelyn as a middle name when our adoption is legalised, but it isn’t quite the same thing, is it? I knew the naming issue would be a sticking point for me and I still accept the reasons why social services vehemently defend and advocate the keeping of the names most of their children come with. So that is that. Far be it for me to defy the rules when it comes to something as serious as a child’s identity. Middle names are a different story, however, and have been encouraged by our social workers so that is a small consolation for me.

Going back to my friends who have, when I feel angry, ‘stolen’ my (non existent but still very important birth) child’s name. I know they haven’t. They are people with a similar mindset to me on such matters and would have chosen that name because it is beautiful and classic. I wish I could feel joyous for them, because they are lovely people and deserve that reaction from me at this special time. But I’m still not quite ready to change my ways. Let’s face it, I’ve avoided pregnancy and babies for about five years now, so why would that behavioural pattern undo itself in six months? It was a counsellor who told me it was ok to block myself away from people in situations that would make me hurt with jealousy. It was wonderful to have someone give me permission to be more selfish and preserve my own feelings at the time, but now a few years have gone by I can’t help but wonder if that truly was the right thing for me to do? I’m left with gaping holes in my social life. I no longer have online contact with anyone I used to know and have only really allowed a small number of more intimate friends stick around. Thank goodness for them. The friends I am referring to in this blog haven’t made huge efforts on my behalf, but equally neither have I. My reason for this is the knowledge that they would go on to have a successful pregnancy and be yet another couple whose friendship I can’t access. I’m not sure what their excuse is. Probably blissful happiness in their own little bubble.

So my grievance is partly jealousy for their apparent good fortune in life in general, mixed with their lack of care for me or my adopted children (or so it seems to me while I am in this mood) and also my probable loss of them in the future since they now have everything they want and have named it with my chosen name too. I wish them well, or at least, the old version of me does. She was quite a nice person really, but I failed to appreciate her back then. I miss her sometimes.

Ugh. I hate how I sound in these last paragraphs. I hate what my experiences and grief has done to my way of thinking. I find it hard to like myself at all today. I wish my friends well and I love them. I wish I felt more supported than I have done by most of them at one time or another. (Such are the challenges of being a good friend to a person struggling with infertility, by the way. I know it isn’t easy and I’m sorry for the difficulties you may have faced while trying to do the right thing by me, or by someone else who is hurting.)

I wish it was ‘just a name’ and nothing more. Maybe one day that will be the reality.