People talk sometimes of the 'second death' a person suffers when their name is said for the last time. It chimes with something I heard a long time ago on (I think) The Relentless Picnic, where one of the hosts was talking about their divorce. They talked about how for everyone you know, there's a version of them that lives in your head. The saddest thing about their divorce for them, they said, was that every day after their separation, every day they didn't see them, the version of their former partner in their head diverged a little from their partner in the real world, without the continual updating that comes through continuous contact. After a certain point, the person in the real world will be so different from the person in their head they might as well be another person.
That seems like another kind of second death, to me, and one that can happen a multitude of times to you. Most of the time it won't matter to you—I'm sure there aren't many who are too bothered as to whether they're remmembered by their schoolteachers—but for me, as for many, I'm sure, there are people who used to be major parts of my life who, for whatever reason, I no longer see or speak to. Thinking about some of them today, it occurred that I could no longer really summon a version of them in my head, as I once could. That it's been so long that they have, in a way "died", for me. In one way, this feels tremendously sad, but in another, there's the hope—appropriate for the past weekend—that such a death creates the potential for resurrection.