Keep Their Names Alive.
The belief that they're gone keeps us focused on what we've lost. Saying their name reminds us that our relationship has simply changed form.
I once heard a proverb that said, "You die twice. Once when they bury you in the ground, and the second time is the last time somebody mentions your name."Curious where it came from, I did a little digging and discovered it's actually from Macklemore's song Glorious released in 2017.
So... not quite as old as I originally thought.
It's a good reminder to question and investigate the information we accept as truth, especially our beliefs. Because our beliefs, fundamentally, aren't true or false. They're only true because we believe them to be.
Damn... I woke up today wanting to write about how we honor the people we've lost. Instead, I'm talking about the reality we create through our beliefs. I guess this is the universe testing my creativity and asking me to bridge the two.
I think I've got it, so here goes.
At the beginning of my grief journey, I got into the habit of suppressing my grief. Every thought, emotion, and physical sensation that surfaced got pushed down because I had to be strong for my parents.
There's a belief that came from the messaging around me, a belief that completely invalidated my own loss.
So I shoved that sh*t down.
I isolated myself. I didn't talk to anyone about it. I kept it locked up tight.
Eventually, it started showing up in ways that didn't serve me. I bounced from job to job. I overate. I drank too much. I binged TV (even before Netflix & Chill). I dealt with minor health issues, constant exhaustion, and a whole host of other things. I'm willing to bet some of those show up in your life, too.
I also refused to acknowledge that this loss was part of my identity. I never wanted to be known as "the guy with the dead sister." I fought against the reality of my own story.
But the truth is... I am the guy with the dead sister.
And that can be part of my story without becoming the whole story.
So I decided to work on it.
I started talking about it.
I started questioning my beliefs.
Curiosity over dogmatism. (Dogmatism being belief without questioning.)
Did I really need to be strong for my parents?
Who was invalidating my loss?
Can sadness and joy exist at the same time?
Has grief only taken from me, or has it given me something too?
Who would I be today if I had never experienced this loss?
Questioning our beliefs makes them less rigid. It opens the door to possibility. And once possibility exists, we get to choose what we continue believing.
When I questioned the belief that I have to be strong for my parents, I realized something important.
I needed to be strong for them.
And I needed to be vulnerable for me.
I also realized I needed to find, or create, a community that understood what I was carrying. Because my parents couldn't help me process their grief and mine at the same time. (Another belief worth questioning.)
That's where my SIBS (bereaved sibling) family came into my life.
It's the place where I get to talk about my sister with people who simply get it.
I celebrate my victories. I share my struggles. I talk about both her life and her death, because both have meaning. I get to be vulnerable. I get to process the overwhelming thoughts, feelings, and sensations. And I get to brainstorm new ways to keep people saying her name.
As a SIBS community, we've found beautiful ways to celebrate each other's siblings.
We eat cheesecake on Lauren's birthday.
We sent Dean on his final world tour, from going over Niagara Falls in a barrel to a Viking sendoff in Baltimore Harbor.
We smile every time we see an ice cream truck because of JD.
We brew beer for Brad.
We eat nuggets for Vi.
We watch The Pitt for Emily.
We lip-sync Imagine by Ariana Grande for Jaz.
Each one is a small act of remembrance.
Each one keeps their names alive.
The quality of our lives is shaped by the thoughts we think. And the thoughts we think are built upon the beliefs we hold.
That's exactly why I've chosen to believe that my sister is still with me.
Our relationship didn't end.
It simply changed form.
She's still part of my life.
And as long as I keep saying her name, and helping others say it too, she'll never truly be gone.
Go with power,
Jason
Somatic Grief Therapist
Try this Simple Practice:
Keep Their Names Alive
1. Say Their Name
Speak their name out loud today. Tell someone a story about them or simply share a memory that makes you smile.
2. Honor Their Life
Do one thing they loved, eat their favorite meal, listen to their favorite song, visit a meaningful place, or continue one of their traditions.
3. Pass Their Story On
Introduce them to someone who never had the chance to know them. Share who they were, what they loved, or something they taught you. Every story keeps a piece of them alive.
Because people aren't remembered by accident. They're remembered by intention.
Keep their names alive.
If today's message spoke to your heart, I'd love to invite you to continue the conversation. I was honored to be a guest on the Open to Hope podcast, where we explored how loss can become a legacy of love, purpose, and healing. My hope is that our conversation reminds you that even in grief, there is always room for hope.