Speaker A
I don't answer when someone calls me by my dead brother's name. I don't answer when someone calls me by my dead brother's name. My name's Reeve, just Reeve. Not Reeves, not Reef, and definitely not Rowan. Rowan was my twin brother.
Reeve shares his struggle with being called by his deceased twin brother's name and how he reclaimed his identity.
Key Takeaways
- Respecting someone's identity is crucial, especially after loss.
- Ignoring or denying someone's individuality can cause lasting emotional harm.
- Standing up for oneself can lead to positive change in family dynamics.
- Support from other family members can empower victims of emotional neglect.
- Healing and acceptance take time but are possible through honest communication.
Summary
- Reeve refuses to respond when called by his late twin brother Rowan's name.
- Rowan died in a car accident when they were nine; Reeve survived.
- Certain family members, especially Aunt Delphine, repeatedly call him Rowan, seemingly on purpose.
- Aunt Delphine was obsessed with Rowan and resented Reeve for surviving.
- Reeve's family initially corrected Aunt Delphine, but she continued the behavior.
- At 15, Reeve decided to stop responding when called Rowan.
- During his grandma’s 80th birthday, Aunt Delphine publicly called him Rowan again, leading to a confrontation.
- An 8-year-old cousin and other family members called out Aunt Delphine for her behavior.
- Aunt Delphine apologized and started using Reeve’s correct name, though awkwardly.
- Reeve gave a heartfelt toast honoring Rowan while affirming his own identity.
Chapters
- 00:00Introduction and Reeve's identity
- 00:17Family calling Reeve by Rowan's name
- 00:37Aunt Delphine's deliberate behavior
- 00:54Family conflict and aftermath
- 01:10Reeve's decision to stop responding
- 01:27Grandma's 80th birthday confrontation
- 01:52Family support and Aunt Delphine's apology
- 02:28Reeve's toast and resolution
Full Transcript — Download SRT & Markdown
Speaker A
He died when we were nine. Car accident on a highway in the rain, and I was the one who walked away from it. I'm 17 now, and for 8 years I've had to listen to certain people in my family
Speaker A
accidentally call me Rowan. Not once, not twice, constantly. My aunt Delphine is the worst. She was my mom's sister, and she was obsessed with Rowan when he was alive. He was the golden kid, smart, funny, sporty, the whole package. I was
Speaker A
the quieter one, the one who read books in the corner while Rowan performed for the adults. After he died, my aunt started this thing where she'd slip up and call me Rowan. My mom would correct her. My dad would correct her. I'd
Speaker A
correct her. She'd laugh and say, "Oh, you two just look so alike, I can't help it." We're not identical. We were fraternal twins. He had blond hair, mine's dark. He had blue eyes, mine are brown. There's no accident happening.
Speaker A
She's doing it on purpose. When I was 12, I finally figured out why. I overheard her tell my mom at Thanksgiving that Reeve should really try to be more like Rowan was, and that it was such a shame the wrong twin
Speaker A
lived. My mom didn't speak to her for a year after that. But then my grandma got sick, and everyone had to be at the hospital, and somehow my aunt was back in the picture like nothing happened.
Speaker A
She never apologized. She just kept calling me Rowan. My mom would snap at her, and she'd act shocked, like she didn't remember saying it. Two years ago, I told my parents I was done. I wasn't going to respond anymore. If she
Speaker A
called me Rowan, I'd act like she was talking to a ghost. My dad thought it was a good idea. My mom was hesitant, but agreed. The first few times were small, family barbecues, holidays. She'd say, "Rowan, come here," and I'd keep
Speaker A
scrolling on my phone. She'd get frustrated and huff. My little cousin Poppy, who's eight, noticed after a while and started doing this thing where she'd tug on my sleeve and whisper, "She did it again, Reeve," and I'd whisper
Speaker A
back, "I know." Last month was my grandma's 80th birthday party at my uncle's house. Aunt Delphine was in charge of everything, and she was already in a mood because my grandma had asked me to give the toast, not her.
Speaker A
During dinner, she stood up and started this speech about family and the ones we've lost, and how Rowan would have been such a wonderful young man today.
Speaker A
Then she turned to me and said, "Rowan, would you come up here and light the candle for your brother?" The room went quiet. My mom put her fork down. My dad looked at me. I didn't move. I kept
Speaker A
eating. She said it again, louder. "Rowan, the candle." I took a sip of water. Poppy, from across the table, stood up on her chair and said, "His name is Reeve, and you keep doing that on purpose." An 8-year-old called her
Speaker A
out in front of 40 people. Aunt Delphine turned bright red and said, "Poppy, sit down. This is grown-up talk." My uncle, Poppy's dad, stood up next and said, "No, she's right. You've been doing this for years, Delphine. Everyone sees it.
Speaker A
Stop." Then my grandma, who is 80 years old and hadn't said a word all night, tapped her wine glass with a spoon and said, "Delphine, his name is Reeve. Say it right now or leave my birthday." The whole room was silent. My aunt's hands
Speaker A
were shaking. She looked at me and said, "Reeve, would you light the candle?" I got up. I walked to the front of the room. I lit the candle for my brother. I said the toast I'd prepared. I talked
Speaker A
about Rowan as a kid, the way he laughed, the way he'd steal my cereal, the way he wasn't better than me or worse than me, just my brother. I ended it by saying, "I miss him every day, but
Speaker A
I'm not him, and I never will be, and that's okay." My mom was crying. My dad was crying. My grandma nodded at me from across the room like she'd been waiting 8 years to hear it. After that night,
Speaker A
something shifted. Aunt Delphine didn't come to the next two family things. When she finally did, she was quiet. She said hello to me and used my name. She still doesn't fully look me in the eye. That's fine. I don't need her to. Poppy still
Speaker A
tugs my sleeve sometimes at family events, but now it's to show me a drawing or a bug she found. My grandma sends me a card every month with a $20 bill in it and the same note for Reeve,
Speaker A
just Reeve.
Topics:identitygrieffamily dynamicstwin brotherslossemotional abuseself-assertionhealingfamily conflictpersonal story
