I can still see and hear my dad as he explained to me that I was named “Elis­a­beth” for his mother. Even into his very old age, he could not speak about her in other than a whis­per. The pain of her loss had not less­ened with time, per­haps because she died pre­ma­turely. I remem­ber he said that she was a won­der­ful woman, a farmer’s wife, very gifted with nee­dle and thread. site whois She sewed all the clothes for their fam­ily of three— includ­ing her husband’s suits, shirts, coats, and, of course, her own clothes. I also remem­ber that he told me never to let any­one call me by a nick­name. I don’t remem­ber his exact words, but I sensed that a nick­name would be a kind of des­e­cra­tion. Bear­ing her name was a sacred trust. There­fore, I never allowed myself to be addressed by a nick­name. Names and peo­ple are too eas­ily lost.

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