If Anything Happens to Me,
Please Do Not Name a Bill After Me
Let me be very clear.
If anything happens to me, do not name a bill after me.
No “Tori Seals Survivor Reform Act.”
No “Tori’s Law.”
No commemorative task force.
Absolutely no ribbon-cutting ceremony with my name on a podium.
And this is not false humility.
It is strategic.
When Jay knew he was dying, he made a request.
He asked that I not name a foundation, a bill, or anything else after him.
At first, I thought that was strange.
Isn’t that how we honor people?
Scholarships. Foundations. Legislative acts with solemn titles and patriotic font choices.
But his logic was sound.
And frankly, a little prophetic.
The Problem With Named Things
Once something is named and established, it develops a life of its own.
Foundations drift.
Boards change.
Staff turnover happens.
Funding pressures shift priorities.
Twenty years later, an organization that started with razor-sharp purpose can slowly expand, dilute, pivot, and rebrand until the original mission is a footnote in an annual report.
That is not always malicious.
It is human nature plus time.
Mission creep is real.
And attaching someone’s name to something does not prevent drift.
It just makes the drift more awkward.
Legislation Is Even Riskier
Now let’s talk about bills.
When a bill is first drafted, it can be beautiful.
Clean language.
Clear intent.
Focused reform.
Then it enters the ecosystem.
Amendments are added.
Provisions are negotiated.
Offsets are inserted.
Sections are softened.
Definitions are narrowed.
By the time it leaves committee, survives floor votes, passes both chambers, and makes it through agency implementation…
It may resemble the original draft in the same way a distant cousin resembles you in a blurry family photo.
Technically related.
Practically different.
And once agencies begin writing regulations and guidance?
Entirely new layers emerge.
Sometimes thoughtful.
Sometimes confusing.
Sometimes so far removed from the original intent that you need a legislative archaeologist to explain how you got there.
The Horrific Bastardization Phase
Let’s be honest.
There are bills that begin with genuine purpose.
And somewhere between congressional negotiation, agency interpretation, and bureaucratic implementation, they become something else entirely.
Not evil.
Just… distorted.
Compromised.
Diluted.
Layered with provisions that solve three other problems and accidentally complicate the original one.
If my name were attached to something like that?
I would haunt a markup session.
Politely.
But persistently.
Intent Versus Outcome
Jay understood something simple.
Intent matters.
But outcomes matter more.
Naming something after someone does not guarantee it will stay aligned with its origin.
It guarantees sentiment.
Not structure.
Not oversight.
Not permanence.
Honor Without Branding
If you want to honor someone, make the policy effective.
Make the foundation accountable.
Make the program transparent.
Keep it aligned with its purpose five, ten, twenty years later.
That is honor.
Not engraved plaques.
Not commemorative titles.
Not social media graphics announcing the “So-and-So Act.”
Real honor is durability.
It is fidelity to the original intent long after the press conference ends.
So Here Is My Request
If anything ever happens to me, resist the urge to immortalize me in legislative language.
Instead:
• Draft the bill carefully.
• Guard it during markup.
• Watch the amendments.
• Track implementation.
• Demand accountability from agencies.
Protect the mission.
Because names fade into acronyms.
But impact lasts.
And if Jay taught me anything, it is this:
Do the work right.
Do not worry about who gets credit.
That philosophy survives far longer than any title ever will.
