What's in a name?

Growing up, I loved being a Kyle. An Army brat, we had ended up in Southeast Virginia 600 miles from the closest Aunt and Uncle and the generation above my parents was long gone. It was lonely sometimes to not have the big family. The cousins growing up down the street. The throng of grandparents at concerts and graduations. In my small town, it seemed like everyone had more relatives then they knew what to do with while we were just our small little unit of five.

Some of my favorite Kyles:
Kyle Douglas, Nate Kyle, Wendy Kyle, Bonnie Kyle, and Jackie Kyle

So being a Kyle connected me. It was a bond to my West Virginia roots and our far-flung family just like Bowden tied me to Tennessee and South Carolina. It was an ubiquitous reminder that I was part of a family and something greater than just myself. Like any good Southern father, my dad was constantly regaling us with family lore. From Great Grandmother Bobbie hiding from the Yankees in a dark well to life in post-war Germany with his Army officer father, we heard it all often and repeatedly with reverence. As a child, though, these stories were as distant to me as any other he might tell me of Anne of Green Gables or the shores of Narnia. The name, though - carrying both sides of the family in just two little words - made these stories mine.

I always knew, then, that my babies would one day have family names. I think I managed to play it cool all the way until our second date, when, in between drinks at our favorite bar (a thing that used to exist when we were still young and fun), I loudly and awkwardly blurted out, "So what should we name our kids?"

It was the first time I witnessed RB's now frequent "Oh, what have I gotten myself into?" face. He stammered something about what he might name a dog one day ("Clemson or Tiger." "No.") and then sidetracked into what, exactly, did I mean by kidS? After I negotiated him up from two and he talked me down from six (four it is!), he finally came around to names. He had no girl names picked out, because of course, he would only be having male children. He was one of two boys and wasn't used to the world of little girls, so he would just stick with masculine children thankyouverymuch. For boys, he didn't know much but he knew he wanted a son named William after his beloved dad. Perfect. We are both on board. Family names it is.

Fast forward five years, one marriage, and two dogs (neither named Clemson or Tiger, I might add)

Mom and the Original Bonnie

later, and there we were - pregnant with our first sweet baby girl. It took me all of two seconds to come up with a name. Bonnie Kyle. Kyle tying her to so many of those we love and who play an important role in our lives. Bonnie as a nod to my long passed grandmother, a woman of myth in my mind. She passed just a few days after my first birthday and my knowledge of her exists only in the yellowing photos of our family albums and the love-soaked words of her children, children-in-law, and grandkids old enough to remember her.

Skip forward almost three more years, and, despite RB's confidence in his destiny as a father of many sons, here we are waiting on another little girl. Before we even started trying, I knew our next girl would be Katherine after my own beloved mother. Naming a grandchild after my momma would be a way of honoring and loving her, one last way to say thank you for the woman and mother she was. We went back and forth on the middle name. RB leaned towards "Maley," another old family name. I wanted "Bowden." But, as RB will tell you often happens when I am pregnant, I managed to wear him down with incessant whining win the argument. Katherine Bowden Buchanan is all ready now for birth and monogramming.

Totally in love with each other from Day One. 

My sweet Bonnie has so many tangible reminders of her relationship with her Ganma. In the short 18 months they shared together, B accumulated hundreds of photos, books with loving inscriptions, and cards for the littlest of holidays. My momma poured out her love frequently and passionately and B will have those love remnants for the rest of her life. Our sweet baby Katherine, though, will never take a picture with her grandmother or receive a card just because or open a well-loved book to see Ganma's words spilling out. Her namesake will be just out of reach for her - a face she recognizes easily in photographs, a woman whose life story she knows well, a love she can almost feel but can't recall - just as my grandmother was for me. I hope this name is an anchor for her. Of who she came from. Of who has loved her, even before she was born. Of who she wants to become. That when all else may seem lost, she will always have this name reminding her of all those who have loved and wanted her.

I hope the name also reminds her daily that she is part of something bigger than just herself. That on both her mom and dad's side, we believe in family. In the importance of recognizing what those before you overcame and accomplished so that you could be who you are and have what you do today. That "God, family, country" is more than just a catchy bumper sticker.

I hope, too, in some small, selfish way that the name is a balm to our aching souls. That it reminds us all that there is a time to be born and a time to die. And though that may make for heartbreaking, mortal pain, a greater glory awaits us all.

In most translations, Katherine means "pure" or "clear." I don't know that there is another love as pure or clear as a grandmother for her granddaughter. And though my two Katherines will never meet on this Earth, though they will not forge a relationship through late night rocking and early morning walks, sweet kisses and shared experiences, I know that love will exist as pure as ever.

Even if Bonnie does insist on calling her little sister "Ariel."