Mine is of hearing my mother play the piano, and reaching up on the counter to get some grapes. It's small, but it matters, because without it, it would be my dad. And it is one of the most profoundly traumatic memories of my life. But I KNOW that the thing with the piano and the grapes happened first, because it was the Richmond house, and the memory of my dad was after my mom left him and moved to Harrisonburg and he got an apartment. So I cling to that little memory with all my might.
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