Eight-year-old Nyssa was my best friend last week.

To help myself through the emotional roller coaster, I did things I did as a kid.

I played “Dr. Mario” on an original Nintendo system. My family and I broke out games such as “Tetris” and “Loopz,” and I remembered why they were so fun during childhood.

They’re simple. Not much fuss goes into thinking about where I put the triangle piece in “Tetris” in relation to the space I’m leaving for the big stick. The innocence of playing was surprisingly therapeutic and brought back many of the best memories I had as a little girl.

When my fingers were aching for a break, I played old-school solitaire. No computer involved here, folks. Solitaire with a deck of cards allowed me to keep up with the simplistic theme yet also allowed me to shamelessly cheat.

I stuck with the kiddie theme well into the evening hours. While I stopped short of checking under the bed for goonies, I did dust off my old comic book

collection. I still have several boxes full of Archie comics, all in pristine condition.

Sure, I had several adult-oriented books staring at me sullenly from my bedside table. Veronica and I, however, go way back. She and the gang have always been there for me.

While I’m confident I’m still 20 years old, I appreciated the trip into my childhood. The events of Feb. 14 reminded me so starkly that tragedy doesn’t care how old you are.

But no matter how long we live, we have the luxury of looking back on the fun times we spent with dirt-smeared knees.