I was named by my eldest brother; my mother no longer fathomed a girl on the way after her four boys.
I was named Kate and then quickly given the formal name Kathleen to make certain it didn’t become Katherine, a name of someone who made my mother feel unwelcome.
I looked up the meaning of my name, both Kate and Kathleen, when I was working at a bookstore during graduate school. The personalities attributed to each name were different and all suited me well.
My last name, something I have always loved, I gave up for my marriage as it was one of the very few musts my husband ever had. 21 years later, and our musts no longer compatible, I have reclaimed my original surname and, my goodness, it fits.
It isn’t the same fit as before, and I have to get used to its fabric again.
I do love it.
It is mine and I don’t have to replace it, ever.
Though it no longer matches all of my children, I already haven’t matched names with everyone in my home for a few years. And though I won’t share a name in my home as I have before, I share everything that matters the most.
I love their names. Don’t think for a minute that I don’t.
And.
I love having my name back around me, matching my brothers and my mom.
The staccato that I always relished has returned to me; two strong, single syllables.
OneTwo.
Kate Burke
That’s me.
