name

“Susan… a beautiful name,” he said.

“I like it,” I replied.

Another “name” experience… One of the material handlers at work recently greeted me in the cafeteria with, “Good morning, Susan!”

“Wow, how did you know my name?” (As an accountant, I’m not out on the manufacturing floor very much.)

“I’ve been here almost 30 years, and I try to learn everyone’s name.”

Dale Carnegie says, “Remember that a person’s name is to them the sweetest sound in any language.”

As I reflect back on my name, I recognize its significance in my story.

Born Susan Elizabeth Zimmerman… That name expresses my “onliness” for the first 12 years of my life until my brother was born. It is my awkward name, my wanting-to-fit-in name, my never-quite-good-enough name. Ouch. I hadn’t really thought of it in those terms until now. It is, however, my opportunity name, as my parents gave many advantages. A good school, piano lessons travel, ballet lessons (although I never overcame my gawky elbows and dizziness when it was time to pirouette.)

I began to grow into my name in college, when it was okay to be smart and quirky. I liked my name, so much that I kept it 10 years into my first marriage. That was perhaps more a function of my husband treating his name as proprietary and not wanting to share. Hmmm. A clue to the future when he thought that our divorce settlement should be 100% him, 0% me?

Then I became, Susan Zimmerman Hauser. The professional woman, though not hyphenated. The confident business traveler who was proud to navigate airports and strange cities on her own—and discovered a previously-unknown talent for negotiation. The wife who sought to fill her husband’s leaking emotional bucket by downplaying her abilities and ignoring his addiction. No wonder she felt confused, angry and depressed—which person was she? Could she be both these things?

Four years later, divorce. After an exhausting two-year period of confrontation and counseling, the negotiation ended at 55 Joe / 45 Susan. And it was good. I had filed for divorce after an odd but powerful moment of truth—he looked at me with utter disgust as his mom pulled out of our driveway one day—it was good to be done with his long-term affair and lies, good to walk away with the cats, good to walk toward my new life. That look simultaneously broke my heart and strengthened my resolve. The truth I saw in that moment carried me into my new, sunny yellow home on the other side of town.

On a snowy, April morning, I became Susan Burton Thomas. This is my heritage name, my spiritual legacy name—my freedom name. Rather than retreat into my childhood name five weeks from my fortieth birthday, I chose a new name. Great-grandfather Burton Thomas, though I didn’t know it when I took the name, was a spiritual giant, a man of prayer. I wanted a new name that still honored my family. Susan Burton Thomas was an explorer! Without a critical spouse, she learned to garden (and how therapeutic to dig up the yard to the point of tennis elbow!), decorate her home, and swing dance. She taught piano lessons and started a Master’s in Elementary Education. She even fixed her garage door, because the guy at the store saw her drive up in her black GMC truck and said, “You look like a person who can handle this.” Yes, Susan Burton Thomas was a strong woman, a competent woman, a self-sufficient woman.

On September 8, 2000 I became Susan Thomas Fennema. I was attracted to Bruce Fennema by his love of God and love for his teenage boys. They had fun! So although we met on-line, we finally decided to get together in person a few months later. The rest is history. I am more myself than I have ever been, accepted by a man who loves me even when I annoy or anger him. I am Stepmama to three confident, amazing young men. I am keeping my advice to myself (unless asked) for the three lovely daughters-in-law that have joined our family.

It is a good name, and a good life. Each name is a chapter in it—and I hope there is much more to be written.