frozen memories.

I've started reading Useful Girl by Marcus Stevens. The main character's mother dies in the first chapter. In a subsequent scene, she prepares dinner for her father by cooking some stew that her mother made and froze months before, only weeks before she died. It was wonderfully written, partly because that kind of thing is what grief is all about. I remember finding Italian cream cake in my mom's freezer that my grandmother had made for my dad before she died. It's like going back in time. Only more depressing.