The priest forgot my wife’s name during the funeral

Dear Delyara, During my wife’s funeral, the priest called her Margaret. Her name was Marianne. We had given him notes. He had met her twice. Still, halfway through the prayers, he said Margaret. I felt something hot rise inside me. My son squeezed my arm because he knew. The priest corrected himself immediately, apologized, and continued. Everyone says it was an understandable mistake. It was. I am still angry. Marianne spent sixty-eight years having a name. Her mother chose it. I whispered it in bed, shouted it from the garden, signed it on anniversary cards. Our grandchildren shortened it to Nana because children are allowed. Death had already taken her voice, breath, body, future. For five seconds at the funeral, even her name disappeared. Afterward, the priest apologized again. I told him not to worry because I did not want a scene beside my wife’s coffin. Tonight, I am making one here. Her name was Marianne. She hated lilies. She put too much salt on eggs. She snored when lying on her back. She could not reverse the car without turning the radio down. Her name was Marianne. I need someone somewhere to get that right.