We were both learning how to live in a house where one person’s absence could make every room feel crowded with memories.
The first time Emma mentioned graduation again, I was making dinner.
“Mom, do you think the school will remember Felix when our class graduates?”
I put down the spoon.
“Of course they will.”
She looked at me carefully.
“How do you know?”
I didn’t have a good answer.
“I’ll talk to the school if you want.”
“No. I want to ask them myself.”
In January, she emailed Principal William, explaining that her twin brother had attended the school and should have graduated with their class. She asked whether his name could be mentioned briefly during the ceremony.
The answer was polite but firm.
The ceremony was reserved for students completing their graduation requirements.
Emma tried again, suggesting that the school display Felix’s photograph near the entrance with a short note remembering students who had died before graduating.
