She has fragments.

She has a specific memory of Rebecca’s hands doing something with a paintbrush and a jar of water.

She has the smell of a particular hand cream, which we still buy, and which sits in a cabinet in our bathroom to this day and which is not for anybody’s hands.

Everything else she has, she has because somebody gave it to her.

That is what people who have not been through this do not understand about photographs on a refrigerator.

For a child who lost a parent at four, those objects are not decoration and they are not grief and they are certainly not a shrine.