There was something today, and I am not even sure of exactly what it was, in the UU Service this morning in Houlton that started me thinking about my Gramma, the one that I loved so dearly, and then my other Grandmother that I never knew at all. My name is MaryAlice and I have gone by MaryAlice since my earliest memories. I have my dear Gramma, Mary Thelma Washington Stanford that is my first name, and then my middle name (only legally) is Alice. Alice M. Bragg Mowry was the Mother of my Father.
I have been quite saddened that I never legally changed my first name to MaryAlice, when I turned 65 and dealt with Social Security for the first time ever all of the legal documents that were sent to me (social security, medicare, etc) were addressed to Mary Mowry. It felt like my unknown Grandmother Alice was abandoned.
Some of my most distinct memories as a very little girl are about correcting people who call me Mary. I remember looking up and saying, "my name is not Mary, it is MaryAlice". I would go on to tell them that I was named after my Grandmothers, Mary and Alice. I still tell people that today, I am named after my two grandmothers. I tell that story a lot these days as I introduce myself to someone as MaryAlice, and they say hello Mary. Then I have to say my name is MaryAlice, sometimes multiple times. One time recently I purposely called a man I know from town by a totally different name after three times of correcting him about my name.
There is a lot in a name. There is a lot of meaning being called by your name. And somehow while sitting in our little sanctuary this morning I felt all the protectiveness of a lifetime of preserving my name as well as the name of a Grandmother that I never knew.
I never knew my father and it was not until I was in my forties when my Mom gave me his social security number, and I was able to track information about him. He had died a number of years before this time and when I received his death certificate it had the wrong woman listed as his mother. It had his step mother, and somehow his new family did not know about the woman who gave him life and left the family when he was a very very young boy.
There was a lot packed into receiving that death certificate, but I remember being so sad and mad and much more. Through all of the emotions, feelings, finality of knowing something about the father I never knew I kept thinking that even on this death certificate the Grandmother that I had never known, the Grandmother that was part of my name, had no name.
Last year I did a DNA test. I started trying to figure out family history, most importantly to try to put together some knowledge about my absent dead father's side of the family. It took me weeks and weeks to be able to even find out the last name of Alice, my Grandmother. Alice was born in January of 1911. I have found out very little about her. I did talk to a woman who contacted me after we had each done our DNA test. She was the daughter of my father's sister Pat. She did not know that Pat's mother and my father had different mothers and the same father. We had a good talk and probably will never connect again. Once again my Grandmother had no name.
And for some completely unknown reason, while lighting candles of joy and concern today, I felt the blessedness of protecting, of defending and naming Alice. Alice the Grandmother I never knew, the Grandmother who carries the second part of my name that many people like to forget. Alice who lives in my heart with Mary, the Grandmothers who carried their joy and concern who loved me and were delighted that I was named in their honor.
I remember your name.
I have been quite saddened that I never legally changed my first name to MaryAlice, when I turned 65 and dealt with Social Security for the first time ever all of the legal documents that were sent to me (social security, medicare, etc) were addressed to Mary Mowry. It felt like my unknown Grandmother Alice was abandoned.
Some of my most distinct memories as a very little girl are about correcting people who call me Mary. I remember looking up and saying, "my name is not Mary, it is MaryAlice". I would go on to tell them that I was named after my Grandmothers, Mary and Alice. I still tell people that today, I am named after my two grandmothers. I tell that story a lot these days as I introduce myself to someone as MaryAlice, and they say hello Mary. Then I have to say my name is MaryAlice, sometimes multiple times. One time recently I purposely called a man I know from town by a totally different name after three times of correcting him about my name.
There is a lot in a name. There is a lot of meaning being called by your name. And somehow while sitting in our little sanctuary this morning I felt all the protectiveness of a lifetime of preserving my name as well as the name of a Grandmother that I never knew.
I never knew my father and it was not until I was in my forties when my Mom gave me his social security number, and I was able to track information about him. He had died a number of years before this time and when I received his death certificate it had the wrong woman listed as his mother. It had his step mother, and somehow his new family did not know about the woman who gave him life and left the family when he was a very very young boy.
There was a lot packed into receiving that death certificate, but I remember being so sad and mad and much more. Through all of the emotions, feelings, finality of knowing something about the father I never knew I kept thinking that even on this death certificate the Grandmother that I had never known, the Grandmother that was part of my name, had no name.
Last year I did a DNA test. I started trying to figure out family history, most importantly to try to put together some knowledge about my absent dead father's side of the family. It took me weeks and weeks to be able to even find out the last name of Alice, my Grandmother. Alice was born in January of 1911. I have found out very little about her. I did talk to a woman who contacted me after we had each done our DNA test. She was the daughter of my father's sister Pat. She did not know that Pat's mother and my father had different mothers and the same father. We had a good talk and probably will never connect again. Once again my Grandmother had no name.
And for some completely unknown reason, while lighting candles of joy and concern today, I felt the blessedness of protecting, of defending and naming Alice. Alice the Grandmother I never knew, the Grandmother who carries the second part of my name that many people like to forget. Alice who lives in my heart with Mary, the Grandmothers who carried their joy and concern who loved me and were delighted that I was named in their honor.
I remember your name.
Comments