This story has been fully formed and waiting — for the right moment, and for a little ceremony.   I wasn’t sure when that would be — until today.  It’s my momma’s birthday, and this is for you, momma.  This is the moment this story has been waiting for.  Happy birthday and I love you with all my heart. ❤

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My given name is Margaret Mary Anderson. I’ve never quite felt like it was my own. I’ve been Maggie as long as I can remember, so it feels strange to tell people that my name is Margaret.   It has mostly been used by strangers, in doctor’s offices, and in other official settings where a legal name is required.  And though I love the story and the history behind my name,  I’ve never felt that the propriety of the name itself quite suited me. I always have been and always will be, Maggie.

Maggie Fitzsimmons now, which fits just fine. There was some agonizing over the decision to change my last name when I married Ken, to be sure, but in large part I chose it because I liked it.  And it’s got a sweet Irish ring to it, which also feels fitting. 🙂

Margaret Mary was my great-grandma’s name, and my mom chose it for me to honor her and the special bond they shared.   Margaret provided her with a constant, gentle, and unconditional love — a soft resting place. When I was born, my mom knew that she wanted to keep Margaret’s name (and legacy) alive by giving it to me, but that she would call me Maggie.

I knew and loved my great-grandma also, for the 13 years we walked this earth together.   I felt proud to share my name with my great-grandma, this woman filled with so much love. She was married to Matthew, and it is by no accident that this is the name we chose for our son (albeit knowing that we would call him Mattie). Margaret and Matthew had a great love, an expansive love that was filled with laughter and tenderness. Their marriage lasted over 60 years, until death did them part.

Margaret and Matthew Hahn Wedding

Matthew died first (colon cancer) though we all thought it would be grandma who would go sooner. Her dementia worsened quickly in their final years together, and grandpa cared for her (and all of us) tenderly and gracefully.  In his eightieth decade, he stepped into the stereotypically feminine roles previously filled by her — managing the household and all social activities — for the first time in his life.  Before grandma started losing her memory, she loved to visit and if grandpa answered the phone he would say a brief “hello” and “I love you”, passing the phone to grandma for the rest. But he was able to transition into being the one to do it all at the end of their lives together, seemingly effortlessly.

It was beautiful, in retrospect. At the time I just felt scared, sad, and concerned for my grandma, my namesake.

Margaret & Matthew 50th Wedding Anniversary

My great-grandpa’s death was the first I experienced. I felt such intense grief that I couldn’t imagine how I would ever recover and feel like myself again. I wailed at his funeral uncontrollably, trying to comprehend this thing called death that felt most unnatural to my child self, impossible to fathom.

At their house after the service I clutched my great-grandma’s hand, not wanting to leave her side, not understanding how anyone could eat or laugh or make small talk in the face of such tragedy. I can see myself there now, small and afraid, sitting in the blue wingback chair that used to be his, loving her fiercely.

Only two months later, on Valentine’s Day, Margaret followed Matthew. Although my sorrow was great, I was relieved that they were together again, somehow.

Eighteen years later, my own son was born, and while we considered many names, we chose Matthew.  We chose this name to honor my great-grandfather and his legacy — and to once again bring Matthew and Margaret together again — though this time as Maggie and Mattie, mother and son.  We carry on their love, tenderness and laughter, making it our own, moving it forward and passing it on.

Maggie and Mattie, Summer 2014