My late grandmother’s name is Sheilia, and I swear I’ve never heard the name so much as I have since she passed. It’s everywhere, more people have it than I used to think. Hearing it is like a small blow to the stomach each time, and I find myself wondering if these strangers sharing her name are as great a human being as she was while simultaneously deciding that they can’t possibly compare. My grief sets them up for failure simply for possessing something they didn’t choose, no more than my grandma did.