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- When Your Child’s Name Is a Bar Anthem
by Jamie Thompson
Updated: Sep. 30, 2020
Originally Published: Aug. 22, 2015
The familiar tune fills the car, and my daughter, Lily, groans from the backseat. “Make it stop, Mom! I can’t stand this song.”
“Lily,” I reply, chuckling. “It’s your song!” I belt out the chorus of the Neil Diamond classic: “Sweet Lily, good times never seemed so good.” She shakes her head vigorously, trapped in her seat as we cruise along at 35 miles per hour. I refuse to change the station.
More than a decade ago, shortly after 9/11, my parents, husband, and I attended a Neil Diamond concert, seeking comfort in the nostalgia of his music. I vividly recall the ’70s hits from my childhood, and how my dad and I shared a high-five during “Sweet Caroline,” surrounded by a crowd of 20,000 people singing along. That night was pure bliss.
Just two weeks later, my world shattered when my father, my hero, was diagnosed with brain tumors due to melanoma. The weight of sadness was overwhelming. In an effort to uplift him, I reached out to a former colleague to secure a signed letter from President Bush. The letter arrived just in time for surgery, filled with encouragement for my dad, a sales manager from Ohio. “He’s a good man, isn’t he, Jamie?” my father smiled, but I thought, No, Dad, you’re the good man. This isn’t right.
Six months later, he passed away in a stark hospital room, leaving me enveloped in grief. I later discovered that my persistent fatigue was not just from mourning but from being pregnant, a reality I had been blissfully unaware of while sitting by my father’s bedside. This unexpected pregnancy forced me to confront my feelings, and I pulled out the infant car seat and Goodnight Moon from my son’s room, trying to find solace amid the tears.
When my daughter arrived a month early, we hadn’t settled on a name. She lay there unnamed while tests were conducted. We wanted something that honored my dad, but names like Gordon or Cleveland-Teams-Who-Haven’t-Won-Any-Championships-Since-I’ve-Been-Alive just wouldn’t do.
Cradling my tiny five-pound baby in that cold hospital room, the lines of “hurtin’ runs off my shoulder, how can I hurt when I’m holding you?” resonated in my mind, contrasting with the bright flowers around me. In that moment, I felt my dad’s high-five and knew her name would be “Lily,” a tribute to our last joyful experience together.
As a young child, she would sing along to “Sweet Caroline,” thrilled to announce, “I came down from heaven as Papa was going up!” However, as time passed—especially after I wrote to Neil Diamond and received a signed photo, making her the only toddler with a Neil Diamond glossy next to Elmo—she grew tired of the song.
Now, caught between her tween years and her old favorites, I sense an existential crisis brewing. I want to tell her: Someday, you’ll find yourself singing this song at a bar, the words “SO GOOD, SO GOOD” creating an unexpected bond with strangers, much like the catchy phrases from a Jimmy Buffett song.
I can’t believe you tried to sell Neil Diamond’s Greatest Hits at our garage sale, I think to myself. I wish you could’ve known your Papa, sweet girl. You have his love for music and his joyful spirit. Yet here we are, your hands covering your ears while the song plays on, and I hold back my thoughts. Instead, I steal a glance at her in the rearview mirror, watching her search for Selena Gomez on her iPod. I quietly whisper to myself, “Was in the spring, and spring became a summer, who’d have believed you’d come along?”
In this journey of parenting, sometimes the best way to cope is to find joy in the little moments, even when they’re wrapped in bittersweet memories. For more insights into navigating these experiences, check out this resource on fertility and home insemination.
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Summary: This reflective piece chronicles a mother’s journey through grief and joy as she navigates the complexities of naming her daughter after her late father. The song “Sweet Caroline” serves as a poignant reminder of shared memories and the bittersweet nature of parenting.