The aunt who remembers your interests gives continuity a practical voice.

Continuity has to be performed by somebody or it does not exist. When a relative recalls what absorbed you three years ago and asks how it went, they are holding a thread across a stretch of time you mostly lived alone. That is unglamorous work, done in a few sentences at a gathering, and it is much of what makes a family feel like one. Being remembered accurately is a form of being kept.

Write down two things that matter to people you see rarely, and ask about one of them next time. Specific questions do far more than general affection.