That Moment When You Forget Somebody’s Dead

Is there a name for that experience when you forget for a moment that somebody’s dead?

For a year or so after my dad’s death 11 years ago I’d routinely have that moment: when I’d go “I should tell my dad about this!”, followed immediately by an “Oh… no, I can’t, can I?”. Then, of course, it got rarer. It happened in 2017, but I don’t know if it happened again after that – maybe once? – until last week.

Dan, wearing a warm weatherproof black jacket and a purple "Woo" woolen hat, alongside a 9-year-old girl wrapped up in a faux-leapordskin hat and an iridescent coat, against a snowy hillside with rolling clouds. — Last week I took our eldest up Cairn Gorm, a mountain my dad and I have climbed up (and/or skiied down!) many times.

I wonder if subconsciously I was aware that the anniversary of his death – “Dead Dad Day”, as my sisters and I call it – was coming up? In any case, when I found myself on Cairn Gorm on a family trip and snapped a photo from near the summit, I had a moment where I thought “I should send this picture to my dad”, before once again remembering that nope, that wasn’t possible.