Legacy of a Name

As I sat at my mom's grave, surrounded by the quiet serenity of the cemetery, my gaze fell upon the inscription on her headstone. Her last name, etched in stone for eternity, caught my attention, as a thought crossed my mind. Did she ever imagine that she would end up with her ex-husband's name forever written on her final resting place?

Lost in contemplation, I pondered the significance of names and the stories they carry. I couldn't help but think about my own last names - the ones that define me, the ones that are so hard to write, and wondered what would be engraved on my headstone one day.

My thoughts shifted back to my mom. I ran through all her names; her birth name, common for America, but when pronounced with the Swedish dialect, sounded so beautiful. My dad’s name, Ripley (believe it or not). And now etched on this stone before me  the 11-letter Italian name of my step father. There were her first and middle names as well, although she hated her first name and went by her middle. I sat there and thought, I only knew her as Mom.  I realized that beyond any name or title, the most important identity I hold is that of a mother.

Reflecting on the countless times I've tried to explain my choices and actions to my children, I understood that what truly matters is how they remember me. Regardless of the names I've carried, the paths I've taken, or the changes I've embraced, all I want is for them to know me simply as Mom.

In the end, it's not the names we bear or the titles we hold that define us. It's the love we give, the memories we create, and the roles we play in the lives of those we care about. And as I sat there, surrounded by memories and the quiet presence of my mom, I found solace in the simple yet profound legacy of knowing her and being known as Mom.