What’s in a name (after death)?
At the beginning of August 2017, I came across an article by Poorna Bell (author of the brilliant Chase the Rainbow). In it she discussed the issue of ‘name’, specifically surnames, their meaning and the circumstances under which they are or can be changed. Name-changing is not necessarily an unusual topic for discussion, especially for women, given the still-relatively-normal-for-many action of changing surname to indicate marriage (see Finch, 2008: 712). But Bell’s piece was particularly interesting because it raised the issue of name changing after the loss of a spouse to suicide:
I was always quite a traditionalist regarding my name when it came to marriage. I liked the idea of adopting a new surname to show my joining with someone, creating ‘our family’. I got married to a Mexican man, however, and the issue became a bit more complex – Mexican culture requires a person to have two surnames, so I effectively had to keep both my existing surname and adopt the new one. It was only a bit confusing to those in the UK who at first assumed I would drop my maiden name entirely, (something that still sometimes causes complicated conversations with the postmen/women administering my collection of parcels I’ve not been at home to receive). In a way, it was a little disappointing to have the continuation of ‘Sutherland’ permitted. I was proud of my marriage, and wanted to signal the new phase of my life with the new surname. So I went for the easy, not-requiring-legal-paperwork option of using Facebook, dropping my ‘original’ surname and replacing it with my ‘married name’ for social media activity only.
Reading Bell’s article, however, prompted a return in thought to ideas I’d mused over after my brother’s death. I was ‘the last one left’. And there was nothing to illustrate my attachment to him if my name were completely different. But no one asked me if I would change my name back. You don’t ask siblings such things. Names are given to you, downwardly (with a particularly male slant attached (Finch, 2008: 712, 715)), by your parents – you are born into your name and the meanings or significance that parents have assigned to those names. It’s not a matter of choice for siblings – “normative naming conventions” afford choice to the parents (Almack, 2005: 239). But, at the risk of becoming all toddler, that’s just not fair. It’s fairly assumptive and misses a rather large point. (Indeed, the importance of sibling surnames is hinted at by Almack, whose study examining the naming processes and choices of children of lesbian parents found, “In all families where there were two siblings, both children had been given the same surname.” (Almack, 2005: 242))
Further thinking on this led to my decision to revert my Facebook name back to my ‘birth surname’. I wanted to demonstrate my connection to brother – losing him did not mean he had never existed. I wanted to show my pride in the relationship that had been, to remind others that I had been (dare I say, still am) a sister. Death did not severe my attachment, particularly on an emotional level; it just changed the character of it.
The day following my name-change, whilst engaged in that most fun of family activities the dishes, my husband came out with ‘Did you change your name on Facebook?’ To be honest, this was not wholly unexpected, as the idea of what names mean and what a name change signifies is so ingrained in us that I would have been slightly annoyed had the issue not presented in some way. Turns out that he himself hadn’t actually noticed my action, but he had received communication from family in Mexico enquiring as to the health of our relationship because I’d changed my married name back to my ‘maiden’ name. One simple change had prompted across-ocean information-seeking. The thought that a name change could represent anything other than problems in marital paradise, through no fault of their own and thanks to cultural custom, had not entered their thinking on the matter.
I explained. Matter resolved.
But as this situation occurred, I started to think of it in relation to some of the sociology of the family literature I’ve been attempting to understand. (Being a non-sociologist ‘by trade’, as it were, please forgive any rudimentary discussions if you are familiar with such literature). I found Finch’s work discussing the idea of ‘displaying’ as well as ‘doing’ family really quite relevant and useful. She argues that,
In this respect it perhaps says a lot that my husband himself was not so affected by the change, but that those around us, knowing us as the family we are, questioned our togetherness as a result of a name change.
Finch’s statement that,
Finch’s work does not explicitly mention death in relation to naming, but given that a loss does result in “changes in family circumstances” (Finch, 2008: 716), I would argue that many of her points are particularly powerful if you consider them in a context of bereavement. For instance, Finch declares that:
From my perspective, death provokes/causes an entire revision of one’s identity; having to work out new roles, new ideas and values, and having to develop new ways to talk about relationships that were once physical but which now cannot be, are all parts of the grief process. Especially after a suicide, it can be about a ‘you-before’ and a ‘you-after’, a search for a new life and accompanying identity that incorporates the old ones (although this takes time and tears to achieve). As such, how a person views, employs, even talks about their name (notably surname) could provide a remarkable insight into specific aspects of bereavement. Personally, I really respond, after my own suicide loss, to Finch’s statement that:
However, firstly, this statement primarily relates to forenames – indeed it is often the case that forenames are where individuality can be expressed, (indeed where names are permitted to be ‘individual’) (Finch, 2008: 712). However, for me my decision to go by my first surname is more of an exertion of my individuality, as a means to providing myself with continuity after my loss. And secondly, the framing around this statement still nonetheless presents the idea of preserving the memory of a lost person as being vertical, not horizontal:
By choosing my original surname, I am showing how important the relationship was to my brother’s sibling, choosing to acknowledge my relationship with him for myself (as well as others). Because of his youth when he died, there is a ‘longer life span’ for my brother through me, never mind my child. Finch’s work on names in this article is really interesting, but application of the content in the realm of death, loss and bereavement I believe has the potential to be fascinating.
Whereas there are sentiments that suggest sticking with one surname results in “a stable sense of self” (Finch, 2008: 712), my name change is actually about the opposite, chiming with the alternative idea that “a changed name can be a symbol in a narrative of personal change” (Finch, 2008: 712). I have given myself back some stability after my loss and emphasised continuity in my life by exercising choice over, and changing, my family name.
“It’s a question I was asked a lot in the first year after Rob died. Was I changing my name? Vehemently I said no, but it was also complicated. It was my married name, and I was no longer married…but my maiden name was like a stranger’s house and the locks were changed. I am no longer that person anymore. And I felt by changing my name, I was erasing him from my life, when the absence of him was already so huge.” 2nd August 2017.
Reading Bell’s article, however, prompted a return in thought to ideas I’d mused over after my brother’s death. I was ‘the last one left’. And there was nothing to illustrate my attachment to him if my name were completely different. But no one asked me if I would change my name back. You don’t ask siblings such things. Names are given to you, downwardly (with a particularly male slant attached (Finch, 2008: 712, 715)), by your parents – you are born into your name and the meanings or significance that parents have assigned to those names. It’s not a matter of choice for siblings – “normative naming conventions” afford choice to the parents (Almack, 2005: 239). But, at the risk of becoming all toddler, that’s just not fair. It’s fairly assumptive and misses a rather large point. (Indeed, the importance of sibling surnames is hinted at by Almack, whose study examining the naming processes and choices of children of lesbian parents found, “In all families where there were two siblings, both children had been given the same surname.” (Almack, 2005: 242))
Further thinking on this led to my decision to revert my Facebook name back to my ‘birth surname’. I wanted to demonstrate my connection to brother – losing him did not mean he had never existed. I wanted to show my pride in the relationship that had been, to remind others that I had been (dare I say, still am) a sister. Death did not severe my attachment, particularly on an emotional level; it just changed the character of it.
The day following my name-change, whilst engaged in that most fun of family activities the dishes, my husband came out with ‘Did you change your name on Facebook?’ To be honest, this was not wholly unexpected, as the idea of what names mean and what a name change signifies is so ingrained in us that I would have been slightly annoyed had the issue not presented in some way. Turns out that he himself hadn’t actually noticed my action, but he had received communication from family in Mexico enquiring as to the health of our relationship because I’d changed my married name back to my ‘maiden’ name. One simple change had prompted across-ocean information-seeking. The thought that a name change could represent anything other than problems in marital paradise, through no fault of their own and thanks to cultural custom, had not entered their thinking on the matter.
I explained. Matter resolved.
But as this situation occurred, I started to think of it in relation to some of the sociology of the family literature I’ve been attempting to understand. (Being a non-sociologist ‘by trade’, as it were, please forgive any rudimentary discussions if you are familiar with such literature). I found Finch’s work discussing the idea of ‘displaying’ as well as ‘doing’ family really quite relevant and useful. She argues that,
“family relationships have to be ‘displayed’ as well as done. They need to be seen, experienced and understood by relevant others as ‘family-like’ relationships.” (Finch, 2008: 714)
Finch’s statement that,
“Names are seen as having the dual character of denoting the individuality of the person, and also marking social connections” (Finch, 2008: 709)
is interesting, but perhaps the former is actually subsumed by the latter? She continues to state that “surnames and forenames can serve to ground [own emphasis] the individual within family relationships” (Finch, 2008: 709), but is it possible that the family names do not solely help to identify the individual, they actually arguably are the individual, to both the person themselves and relevant and outside others?Finch’s work does not explicitly mention death in relation to naming, but given that a loss does result in “changes in family circumstances” (Finch, 2008: 716), I would argue that many of her points are particularly powerful if you consider them in a context of bereavement. For instance, Finch declares that:
“If social identity is ‘our understanding of who we are and of who other people are’ (Jenkins, 1996: 5), then it follows that a name is both a legal identifier of the individual but also potentially part of social identity.” (Finch, 2008: 712)
“Speaking or writing a name conjures up an image, a history, a sense of personal taste and style….[it] can embody a sense of connectedness with family.” (Finch,2008: 211)
“acknowledging a specific relationship which is important to the parents and giving it a longer life span through their child.” (Finch, 2008: 720)
Whereas there are sentiments that suggest sticking with one surname results in “a stable sense of self” (Finch, 2008: 712), my name change is actually about the opposite, chiming with the alternative idea that “a changed name can be a symbol in a narrative of personal change” (Finch, 2008: 712). I have given myself back some stability after my loss and emphasised continuity in my life by exercising choice over, and changing, my family name.
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