The fact that she clings to their kindness, their choices, their legacies—the computer, the puzzles—suggests an emotional imprint. Maybe not love as she defines it, but connection all the same. Even nostalgia is a kind of mourning, just softer and slower.
Maybe she’s measuring attachment by extremes—crying, tantrums, longing—when really, grief isn’t just what’s felt; it’s what’s missing after they’re gone.
She says she wasn’t old enough to know them. But then, why defend them? Why preserve their memory so clearly, even fondly?
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Maybe she’s measuring attachment by extremes—crying, tantrums, longing—when really, grief isn’t just what’s felt; it’s what’s missing after they’re gone.
She says she wasn’t old enough to know them. But then, why defend them? Why preserve their memory so clearly, even fondly?
She has more than a memory. She has a narrative.