For years, Christmas meant gathering at my mother-in-law’s house with all eight of her children and their families. The smell of smoked turkey and ham, along with the aroma of baked goods, filled the house while the children played with their new toys and the rhythm of tradition carried us through.
Now that she is gone and the family has grown in different directions, that rhythm has changed. What once was simple has become a dance of schedules and compromises. Yet in the glow of the fireplace, with my granddaughters curled close as I read to them on Christmas Eve, I’m reminded that traditions don’t disappear—they evolve.
And in those moments, however fleeting, joy remains.