Say Their Name

This week, I’ve had more conversations about Kahlia than I’ve had in a long time.

Real ones.

Not the careful, tiptoeing kind.
Not the “how are you doing?” ones that hover at the surface.

But the ones that begin with:

“Tell me about Kahlia.”

And every time someone says that, something in me opens.

Not breaks.
Opens.

Because for a moment, she is not “the loss.”
Not “the tragedy.”
Not the careful subject people are afraid to touch.

She is my daughter again.
A person. A personality. A laugh. A force. A story.

It feels, in the strangest and most beautiful way, like having her in the room.

People are often afraid to say the name of someone who has died.

They worry they’ll upset you.
Remind you. Trigger you. Make it worse.

But here is the truth most grieving people know in their bones:

We are already thinking about them.
You are not introducing the pain.
You are entering it with us.

Silence is what hurts.

Avoidance is what isolates.

The absence of their name is what makes the room feel cold.

When someone says her name, it does the opposite.

It says:
I know she existed.
I know she mattered.
I’m not afraid of your love.

There is something profoundly kind about that.

Grief is, in many ways, the fear that the person you love will slowly disappear from the world’s language.

Their photos get seen less.
Their stories get told less.
Their name gets spoken less.

But inside the people who love them, they are still vividly, fiercely present.

So when you say their name, you are not reopening a wound.

You are acknowledging a relationship that did not end.

You are giving oxygen to memory.
You are giving dignity to love.
You are giving companionship inside grief.

This week, as The Year After Kahlia has moved further into the world, people have asked me about Kahlia directly.

Who she was.
What she loved.
What she was like as a child.
What made her laugh.

And I cannot tell you what a gift that is.

Not sympathy.
Not softness.
Interest.

Curiosity about her.

If you know someone who is grieving, and you don’t know what to say, here is something simple and brave:

Say their person’s name.

Ask about them.

“Tell me about him.”
“What was she like?”
“What should I know about them?”

You are not being intrusive.
You are being human.

You are making space for love to keep speaking.

And if tears come, that is not harm.
That is connection.

The goal is not to keep grieving people from crying.
The goal is to keep them from being alone.

Say their name.

It is one of the gentlest gifts you can give.