Something dazzling enough can wipe out every other thought, leaving only the urge to get closer. The child at the frozen waterfall forgot everything else and was aware of nothing but her desire to enter. That same fascination carried her past the point where she could find her way back.
Being alone feels like what cuts us off, yet it is the one experience everyone shares. A story about loneliness can therefore comfort its reader instead of only troubling them. Our separate anguish turns out to be common ground.
Deadly cold does not arrive as pain but as a soft, welcome tiredness. The lost child grows languid and limp and ready to sleep, and the ice 'laid its hand upon her' gently. The danger is hardest to resist at exactly the moment it feels like rest.
A mourner can lock herself inside the loss, taking on the dead friend's silence and loneliness as a kind of loyalty. The survivor vows never to forget and stands alone, refusing to play or speak. She has to find her own way out of that inner ice before she can grow up.
Coming back from a loss starts with saying plainly that things are not as they used to be. Others can name the change first, and the grieving person agrees only reluctantly. That honest admission, rather than pretending all is normal, is what lets life slowly move again.