The name they had chosen was filled with meaning, a combination of his father’s—Jon—and her father’s—Michael. Even before they knew what he was, they knew who he was. They called him by name when they spoke of him and to him, and over time Jon Michael began to respond. He also knew who he was, even though he had yet to enter the world.
Sadly, what should have been the joyous day of his arrival became a day filled with grief when they realized Jon Michael could not . . . would not . . . survive.
Never once did Annalyn and Matthew, Jon Michael’s parents, consider “saving” his name for future use, bestowing upon him something less meaningful to be written on his birth certificate and carved upon his monument. As Annalyn told me, “He will always be Jon Michael”.
At her follow-up appointments after Jon Michael’s birth, they would always ask her, “Did he have a name?” and, honestly, it was a question that offended her. Why wouldn’t she name him? How could she not give a name to the child she had loved and carried for nine months? He was a real person, and he deserved a name.
I am a wanderer of cemeteries, and I don’t know of a single, older one I have visited that does not have several small monuments inscribed with the heartbreaking words, “Baby Boy _______________” or “Infant Daughter of __________________”. I suppose, years ago when newborn deaths occurred all too often, it was commonplace not to name those children who did not survive birth. Today’s technology allows us to choose our child’s name with a reasonable degree of certainty long before we meet them face to face, but even without that, a girl’s name could have been chosen as well as one for a boy. Why wouldn’t they do that? I’ve often wondered if decades ago parents didn’t allow themselves to form attachments to their unborn children as we do today. Was the fear of loss so great that they waited to be sure of their child’s safe arrival before choosing their name?
Annalyn and Matthew are expecting again, a little girl this time, due in December—just hopefully not on December 23rd which is Jon Michael’s birthday. Before they knew that she was a she, people were suggesting variations on Jon Michael’s name, trying to be helpful, without understanding that was not what Annalyn and Matthew wanted. “Jon Michael” was Jon Michael’s name, and they would not be using it, or some variation of it, for another child. Would it really be fair to give another child the name chosen for his or her sibling who did not survive? Would they grow up feeling as though they were viewed as a replacement?
I have always believed as Annalyn does, that a child’s name is their name, whether they carry it into Life or into Death, but until she willingly shared her heart with me, I had no basis for that belief other than how I personally felt. I’m grateful she is so open about their loss and that she is actively using her experience to help others cope with theirs. And although the final words of Jon Michael’s obituary clearly speak to the loss his family has suffered, it also gives voice to the loss felt by every parent when their newborn does not survive:
“Jon Michael’s legacy, although short, serves as a poignant reminder of the fragility of life and the deep connections we share with our loved ones. He will forever remain in the hearts of those who anticipated his birth, a symbol of hope and cherished moments that will be remembered fondly by all who had the privilege of being part of his story.”
A symbol of hope . . . a reminder of the connections that Death cannot destroy . . . and a name filled with meaning, given in love. Truly, Jon Michael’s legacy lives on—as does the legacy of every child, no matter the length of their life.
About the author: Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth-generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926 and has worked with Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 45 years. Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.
