To me, the holidays are all about spending time with my loved ones and giving back to my community and those who mean the most to me. That becomes a little harder when one of the most important people in your life dies.
My dad inherited a family recipe for pineapple sweet rolls that I would spend all year looking forward to. Every year, he would make at least 12 different batches to distribute to our friends and neighbors. It became a tradition that they also looked forward to all year, and it was so special to share it with them. He would arrange the rolls in the shape of a tree, dye the frosting green, and place maraschino cherries on top to look like tree ornaments. When I got older, he taught me how to bake and I became very involved with this tradition. I would bake them with him and tag along as we drove around town to hand them out to our closest friends. We would make our own batch on Christmas morning and wake up before sunrise to finish them.
When he died, I knew that I would continue this tradition by myself. I admit, I was intimidated by the idea of making so many batches, but I never considered abandoning the tradition. I would keep it going, no matter what it took.
The first Christmas without him was heartbreaking. I could feel his absence more than ever during the days leading up to the holiday. But when I stepped into the kitchen to make those rolls, it felt like he was right there with me the whole time. I blared holiday music as loud as I could and took extra care with each batch to make sure they were perfect. I didn’t get through that day without crying, but they were necessary tears. I missed him with everything I had, but I hadn’t felt that close to him since his death, nine months prior.
I always look forward to the holidays so I can make the rolls and feel that much closer to my dad with each passing year that he’s been gone. The tradition has evolved ever since it has been just me. On Christmas morning, I wake up early before the sun comes up, turn on nothing but the Christmas tree lights and the fireplace, play Christmas music, and get the rolls in the oven. While they bake, I sit on the couch under a blanket, drink a cup of coffee, and enjoy the ambience as the smell of the rolls fills the house, the music plays softly, and the lights twinkle. I think about my dad and how much I wish he was there sitting on the couch next to me. I enjoy the moment I get by myself to just miss him.
The rest of my family awakens, and they come to join me when the rolls are warm and ready. We each have one (or two, or three). They tell me that I have perfected the recipe and that I make them even better than he did. I laugh, thinking about how my dad would pretend to be offended by this comment, but deep down, he would be so proud.
We think of him all day, but this isn’t abnormal for us. We always think of him and miss him. The holidays are only different because that’s when you are supposed to make time to be with your whole family, and we are notably not all together. We never will be again. Even still, we don’t let that get in the way of a fun holiday full of traditions, including the rolls, frosting Christmas cookies, opening gifts together, and enjoying a nice dinner.
One of my favorite holiday songs is an original by Sleeping At Last, called “Snow.” My favorite lyrics are these:
“The table is set, and our glasses are full
Though pieces go missing, may we still feel whole
We’ll build new traditions in place of the old
‘Cause life without revision will silence our souls.”
I think that perfectly sums up the beauty of the holidays and the complexities of the grief that comes along with them. I feel so lucky every year to be able to celebrate the holidays with my mom and my sister. I am all-too familiar with the idea that tomorrow is not promised. Every day, especially every holiday, is a gift, and I will make sure to soak up every moment I get with the people I love.
This holiday season, I urge you to tell the people in your life how much they mean to you. If you are spending it with people, enjoy every second that you get to spend with them. If you are grieving, hold space for that person, tell stories about them, continue their traditions, or anything else that helps you feel close to them. If you are not grieving, but you are around people who are, let them talk about their person. Listen with open ears and an open heart. Let the grieving person know that you support them during the holidays and beyond.
When the holidays end, the grief doesn’t. It will still be there when the next holiday season comes around. I will carry it with me as I step into my kitchen and prepare my next batch of pineapple sweet rolls with a smile on my face and a tear in my eye.
-Cate Murphy