The Holidays, off-script

I love the holidays. Truly. I love the lights, the rituals, the general permission to slow down and lean into small joys. But if the holidays are supposed to follow a universal script, I’ve apparently been working from a heavily annotated, slightly smudged copy.

Because with the joy comes a whole lot of nuance — often revealed through well-meaning, innocent questions.

“Did you cook for Thanksgiving?”

Yes. And also… no. And also, it depends what you mean by cook.

I used to spend the day before Thanksgiving cooking with my parents. Like most family traditions, it wasn’t a Hallmark movie. There were tense moments, sharp edges, and the occasional standoff over something that absolutely did not matter. But there was also quality time, learning by doing, and quiet pockets of connection that I still carry with me.

Not having my parents in my life now makes those memories show up differently. They arrive unexpectedly, usually while prepping food on my own and wanting to ask them a question they always had the answer to. The absence can be a gut punch in the quiet moments, even when the day itself is full.

Thanksgiving, 2024

These days, Gray and I still cook those same recipes — though it’s important to note that I am, objectively, a mess in the kitchen. This year we had aloe on standby for burns, which feels like an honest assessment of my culinary skill level. The food still gets made. Sometimes a little chaotically. Sometimes with laughter, sometimes with mild injury. Always with intention.

It’s not the same…  and honestly, that’s okay. It’s ours. We’ve kept the parts that feel grounding and let the rest evolve, which feels like its own kind of tradition.

Another Tradition - Peanut Butter balls

As Christmas approaches, we’re both deeply committed to the art of meaningful surprise gifts — the kind that require thought, restraint, and a shared understanding of what actually matters. We’ll also make the blueberry muffins our family has baked for decades. There has never been a Christmas without blueberry muffins, and I’m not about to be the one who breaks that streak.

I don’t think I can fully explain the loss of my nuclear family in a neat or complete way. There’s too much history, too much love, too much grief coexisting in every thing I’d try to say. But the holidays have a way of surfacing all of it — not to be solved, just to be acknowledged.

As I continue to navigate through the end of the year, I will carry these emotions, these traditions, even when they no longer have the same table to land on.