"You are only really dead when there is no one left to remember you." Before the Razor of "In Beautiful Weather"

My aunt, who is my mother’s sister, usually does not ask too many questions; she usually complains about her children, many grandchildren and great-grandchildren. But she read this essay and asked, “So how did you come to write that story? Did it really happen? It happened a long time ago, right? After so much time passed, why did you decide to write it down? Why then?”