The Highlighter in the Fridge

My dad died eight years ago when I was working on my doctorate and nearing the end of my coursework. There was another woman in the family studies program, although she was further ahead than me, and at the end of her dissertation. Her mom died during the process and she once told me in email how she couldn't find the highlighter she was using and then went into her refrigerator to retrieve something only to find she had somehow placed the highlighter there.

I have always thought about Marie and the highlighter in the fridge, knowing that as we process grief, our minds are not always right with us. Losing a loved one is an adaption to a different life than we had before. It's as if our physical and emotional selves are walking journeys, each different, and they aren't always in the same place.

In the month since my mom died, I have found myself doing things I am scratching my head over, then remembering that I am grieving and it's a process that won't end overnight. While I haven't left the highlighter in the frige (yet) I have found myself walking into a room and not remembering why I went there (and, yes, I know several of you are laughing and saying you do that all the time but it's not something I usually do!). I spelled someone's name wrong in my Naperville Sun article yesterday. I think I catch all the mistakess but later I find out that I haven't.