Listening to Lizzy's laugh

In the process of spring cleaning, I came upon some audiotapes recorded when Elizabeth was four years old.  There is a lot of laughter and fooling around, and some singing.  Besides her dad, I can't think of anyone who liked to laugh more.  She could be very serious, and loved serious books, and did not shy from sad movies, but she had a light hearted side that was lovely to hear on these old tapes.  At one point she was singing Ring around the rosy with her friends Khalila and Jazmyn. 
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How Dina Aunty relished her memories. Mummy and Daddy were the same, talking about their yesterdays and smiling in that sad-happy way while selecting each picture, each frame from the past, examining it lovingly before it vanished again in the mist. But nobody ever forgot anything, not really, though sometimes they pretended, when it suited them. Memories were permanent. Sorrowful ones remained sad even with the passing of time, yet happy ones could never be re-created—not with the same joy. Remembering bred its own peculiar sorrow. It seemed so unfair: that time should render both sadness and happiness into a source of pain.

> From A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry