Traditions That Travel With Us

This Thanksgiving will mark our 11th without Steve.

Even after all these years, time still plays its tricks. Some days it feels like yesterday: the sound of his laugh, the way he carved the turkey, how he selected just the right wine to serve with the turkey. Other days, the memories feel softer around the edges, almost as if I’m starting to forget him. That’s a hard truth to admit, but I know other widows will understand. Grief stretches and shifts with the years. It never really goes away; it just changes shape.

This year, we’re celebrating in Orlando with my daughter and her partner’s family. A new place, new faces, new traditions. There will be people who never knew Steve, but we will remember him. We’re bringing the thankerchief, a small tradition we started years ago to share gratitude and memories and, of course, a few tears. It’s comforting to know that even in a new place, his presence will still have a seat at the table.

And yet, there’s also excitement: for sunshine instead of snow, for meeting new people, for the gift of time together as our family continues to grow and change.

That’s the bittersweet nature of the passage of time. Life keeps expanding, even around the loss. There are new stories being written, and while Steve isn’t here to be in them, his presence still weaves through them in quiet ways.

We’ll make his favorite dessert, of course—Frontera Grill’s Chocolate Pecan Pie with Kahlúa Whipped Cream. The recipe has been packed, along with a block of Mexican chocolate that’s been in our freezer for years, a gift from the chef at Frontera back when Steve was still alive. I don’t care that it’s old. It’s tradition.

Frontera Grill was our place. We lived nearby when the girls were little, and it became the backdrop for so many celebrations. Birthdays, anniversaries, random Friday nights when we needed a break from the chaos of parenting. We knew the staff and the owner. It felt like home. I don’t go there much anymore. It’s one of those places that still tugs at my heart.

But this Thanksgiving, I’ll honor that chapter and step into the new one.

There’s something beautiful about merging old traditions with new people and new surroundings. The grief still travels with me, but so does the gratitude for the love that was, the memories that remain and the life that continues to unfold.

As I think about this eleventh Thanksgiving without Steve, I’m reminded that love leaves traces everywhere: in the recipes we keep, the laughter we share and even the quiet ache that reminds us how deeply we once loved.

So this year, under Florida sunshine, surrounded by both old love and new beginnings, we’ll raise a forkful of that chocolate pecan pie and remember.

Here’s to honoring the past, embracing the present and making space for the joy that’s still to come.