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.