What's In a Name?

I did something last night that I haven't done in a long time. I accidentally called Whit "Paul." In fact, I did it twice. The first time, I didn't even realize it until Jack corrected me. The second time I noticed immediately.

It was such a good feeling.

Of course, Terrill and I both did it a lot right after Paul died. We were used to calling the boys by the wrong name. (One time I called Paul "Jack" and he corrected me by saying, "I'm not Jack, I'm Whit. I mean... Paul!!" I guess we did it so much, we even had him confused!) It was usually Paul and Whit we confused because they were so close in age. Every time I did it after Paul died, I remember thinking how sad I would be when that habit ended. Unfortunately, it didn't take long. I have missed it.

I also remember other people doing it. During a casual conversation at church or in the grocery store, folks would ask about one of the boys and inadvertently say "Paul" by mistake. Sometimes they wouldn't even notice they had done it, and I pretended they hadn't, but it made me SO happy! When they did realize their mistake, they would often feel awkward and apologize, but I assured them that their mess-up was a wonderful reminder to me that Paul was still being thought of and remembered.

That hasn't happened in a long time.

So, last night, when it did happen - seemingly out of the blue - I couldn't help but smile. I walked around the house with this goofy grin on my face, thanking God for that wonderful memory of the chaos of life with three boys.