My foster mother hated her first name. I found another way to honor her after she died.

• My foster mom, Esther, and I were incredibly close.

• She made me promise not to name my kids after her.

• I found another way to honor her.

I was 10 months old when Esther came into my life. My grandparents needed help raising me and my brother after our parents, who both struggled with addiction and could no longer raise us.

"You looked at me, and I know you were mine," she often told me when she relayed our origin story as I got older. Before I came along, she wanted a boy because of the conventional wisdom that they were easier. She wanted a child who was already potty trained. She wanted the opposite of who I was, but she knew I needed her. Eventually, Esther always said that she came to understand how much she needed me, too.

She provided foster care to children who were like me and my brother while raising her three biological children in a housing project. Initially, she cared for us when our grandparents worked. Soon, Esther and her kids became family.

Esther and I became closer and closer

Our bond deepened over time and became like that of a mother and child. "I wish I came from your belly," I often said, knowing she was not my real mother but wishing she were. We did not need biology to connect us. We would come to share history and memories. The summer meant a two-week vacation to a lake in New Hampshire with her and her kids. Holidays were divided between Esther and my grandparents.

As I got older, we would talk about our dreams on our leisurely drives in her long, yellow car, which we fondly referred to as "the giraffe." Esther wanted to finally own a home, and I wanted a house of my own in the suburbs, as well as a career, marriage, and children.

"Honey," she said, "promise me you will never name one of your kids after me." She thought her name was old, biblical, and ugly. "Esther is no name for a little girl."

I made the promise, thinking of the far-off day I would become a mother. When you're young, everything seems far away.

I wanted to honor her while also keeping my promise

In 2006, almost 10 years after Esther died of an aggressive brain cancer, I was pregnant with my first daughter. I sat with my husband and worked on a list we would update after scanning baby name books. I stayed true to my promise and left Esther off the list, though I did spend some time looking into the history of the name. Of Persian origin, Esther means "star." In the bible, Esther was the name of a Queen. The name was associated with strength and beauty. Who wouldn't want that for their daughter?

I also looked back into the most popular names from the year Esther was born, 1936. The name wasn't even popular then.

While I loved the meaning, I heard the voice of my foster mother in the back of my mind. My promise came back in vivid detail. Over time, it had become more than a promise; Esther brought it up more than once, turning it into something of a threat. Once, she'd said, "If you name your child after me, I'll come back and haunt you."

We decided on Cameran for our firstborn daughter. My husband also agreed to use Elizabeth as a middle name. Elizabeth had biblical origins and meant "God's promise." It was also Esther's middle name and the name she chose for her youngest daughter. It was the perfect way to honor the woman who became my best friend and mother, no matter our mismatched DNA.

It also became a way to keep Esther in our lives and make sure my children knew who she was. I did not want her to be a ghost to my children, as my biological mother had been to me. I had a family who provided memories and pictures of my biological mother because we were connected by blood. Since I was not related biologically to my foster mom, my kids would only have me to pass along stories and make her a real part of their lives.

My daughter Cameran may never fully understand the importance of her middle name or personally know how amazing and strong the woman who shared it was, but I do. It will serve her well as she heads into the real world. Now, at 17, she is headed off to college in the fall. My daughter reminds me of my foster mother — independent and fierce. I'm sure it's not just the middle name I passed down but the lessons Esther taught me. They are lessons I've passed along to my children and ones I hope they will pass along to their children.

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