Once you have experienced grief, even the happiest holidays feel different

I still hear her laugh when someone burns the rolls. I can see her standing at the stove, whisk in hand, making the gravy because she was the only one who could get it just right. And her cherry pie? No one has ever come close. Every year, I pull out her recipes and try again.

The gravy’s pretty good, and the pie is close but it’s never exactly hers. Maybe it’s because she added something you can’t measure, something that doesn’t fit neatly on a recipe card.

A few years ago, a dear friend shared a beautiful tradition her family started. Each Thanksgiving, they set an extra place at the table, not as a symbol of sadness, but as a seat of honor. A space for those who came before us, who shaped us, who still live in the stories we tell. I loved that idea so much that I began doing it, too.

Now, every year, there’s a place for my mom. Sometimes it’s a photo beside the plate. Sometimes it’s a slice of cherry pie set out in her memory. Sometimes it’s just her name written on a little card. It’s a small gesture, but it turns that pang of loss into something sacred. It’s a reminder that love doesn’t disappear when someone’s gone. It just changes form.

The truth is, holidays after loss are a mixed bag. They’re wonderful and fun but they’re also tinged with something painful, a faint sadness that settles in your bones. You learn to hold both at once. Gratitude and grief. Laughter and longing. Full plates and empty chairs.

So this Thanksgiving, as we gather around our tables, maybe we make room, literally, for the ones who aren’t with us anymore. Tell their stories. Cook their favorite dish.

Leave a seat open in their honor.

Because while grief changes the way we celebrate, it doesn’t take away the love that made those celebrations so special to begin with.