When my daughter was three, she started calling herself by a different name.
At first we thought she had invented an imaginary character. Children do that all the time. But she was very serious about it.
She said her name was Clara.
We do not know anyone named Clara.
She talked about a garden, a small dog, and a “yellow room where the sun came in.” She also said she was waiting for her sister, but her sister never came back.
One afternoon, my wife showed her old family photos. Our daughter pointed to a woman none of us had mentioned and said, “That is me.”
The woman was my wife’s great-aunt.
Her name was Clara.
She died young, long before our daughter was born. In old notes from the family, we later found a mention of her favorite room in the house.
It was painted yellow.