When I was born, I was given the name Stacy Ann after my grandmother Anastacia, who had passed away several years before. I have been told that I was the granddaughter that she had been hoping for, because before me it had been just my two brothers, and because she never had a daughter herself.

Till this day I still remember the first time I asked my mom about my namesake. With a reminiscent look on her face, she closed her eyes and suddenly smiled, as if she were seeing my grandmother right before her. When she opened her eyes, she began to sort through her myriad of memories, the happy, the sad, the joyous, and the funny. With each memory there was a story, and with each story I came to know a grandmother that I had never met, and how our name was not the only thing we had in common. With that thought I came to truly understand the meaning of my name, "He who will arise again." c