When I was a kid, we had all sorts of family traditions. Whether they were big or small, we gathered nearly every holiday, constantly celebrating with those we loved the most. My favorite holiday was Christmas; how could it not be? It's the most magical time of the year. Christmas meant cookies and trees and gifts and songs. Christmas meant joy. Typically, we spent it with my mom’s side of the family because we were with my dad’s side for Thanksgiving, and it was only fair.

The celebrations began in early December when we would all get together and participate in one of my all-time favorite traditions: guantie making. Guanties are a traditional Italian cookie that my great-grandmother crafted long ago. They take us nearly forever to make, which means they are the perfect family bonding activity. Plus, they are delicious; nothing tops a guantie.

Christmas Eve was up next, and we would all head over to my grandparents' house again. It was the best, with everyone gathering around the Christmas tree, eager to open their first and only gift of the night. Santa even came to deliver presents to my sister and me because we were the youngest cousins. Then we had dinner which we all pitched in to prepare. My sister and I got the easiest task of placing the napkins in their little Santa holders on each person's plate. I still remember those Santa faces to this day.

Then came Christmas Day, of course, and my mom tells me we spent the morning all together at Grandma and Papa’s again. I don't remember this very well, but I do remember looking forward to my aunt's endless bag of teacher supplies which she gave to us each year for Christmas. We thought we were well prepared to teach classes at that point—elementary school better be ready for us!

After years of celebrating holidays in the same traditional way, my papa died, and my grandma was heartbroken. We all were. It was one of my first experiences with loss. How could someone we all loved so much be gone? When we went to his funeral, I couldn't bear to look at my Papa; nor could I think of anything to say. I remember feeling like I didn't know him well enough to make any sort of remark. This made my heart ache even more. However, our traditions remained: my grandmother wasn't about to let those go, too, so we still gathered, though it was harder on her with him gone. It was harder on all of us. Not long after he died, she was gone, too. Our hearts broke all over again. My mother and her three siblings were left with no parents, nowhere to turn to for parental guidance and advice. Losing her meant losing some of those traditions, too. There was no one to host, at least not as well as my grandmother had. My cousin bought her house but still there was no real place to go. My grandma had made it a home; my grandparents both did.

Despite that, we tried to carry on these traditions, some sticking more than others. Through the intervening years, things seemed always to evolve and change. Then Covid hit so we had to take a two year pause on the festivities, but finally this year we were able to celebrate together again. My mom decided to take over both guantie making and Christmas Eve, offering to host and bring back our beloved traditions. Christmas Day is different now; we celebrate more with our individual families than all together. The traditions haven't really gone; they've just grown in different ways, some positive and some negative. Regardless, my values of family and tradition will always exist because of my grandparents. Though significant people may leave us, their memory and legacy never will.

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