Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. No presents. No pressure. No frantic search for the perfect thing to post online. Just food, family, and the one day of the year when everyone agrees that sitting around the table for hours is not only acceptable but expected.
I come from a big family. Not just big in the casual sense, but big in the I have thirteen siblings and eventually stopped trying to count cousins because the numbers never stayed the same kind of way. For more than ten years, Thanksgiving meant cooking for thirty or more people with my stepfather. It was never an assigned role. We simply drifted into the tradition until it became ours. He handled certain dishes. I handled others. By year three we moved around that kitchen with the kind of silent coordination that only comes from repetition and familiarity.
This year is my second Thanksgiving without him.
Even with the same recipes and the same chaotic timeline, the kitchen feels different now. I still catch myself waiting for one of his familiar comments about how I was seasoning something or expecting to see him quietly doubling an ingredient without telling anyone. Those moments hit hard. The tradition is still alive, but the person I built it with is not.
What surprised me, though, is that continuing the tradition does not make the loss heavier. It makes the memory stronger.
Cooking this meal now is bittersweet, but it is also grounding. Every step puts me right back in the years when he and I were a team. When I lift the roasting pan he insisted was the only one worth using or when I make his usual dishes at the same point in the timeline he always did, I am not filling the space he left behind. I am honoring it. I am honoring him.
This is what grounded gratitude feels like. It sits in the quiet place between missing someone and being thankful you ever had them in your life at all. It is the kind of gratitude that does not come from a single moment, but from the weight of years and the meaning of traditions that continue even when life changes around them.
And that idea has been on my mind a lot this month, especially as we focus on Grounded Gratitude in the Road to 10K. The theme fits because our community thrives on the same kind of quiet, steady connection. The things that anchor us are not always big or loud. They are the shared experiences, the support we give each other, and the understanding that we are part of something that continues even when individuals come and go.
The Road to 10K is not just a number or a goal. It is the collective foundation we create by showing up for one another, contributing our stories, and carrying forward the traditions and values that make HETMA what it is. When we take time to notice those things, we recognize how much strength there is in the steady, everyday moments that often go unnoticed.
So when I step into the kitchen this year, I am doing it with grounded gratitude. For my stepfather. For my family. For the traditions that still hold their shape. And for this community that continues to grow through the small, intentional actions of its members.
Gratitude is not a moment. It is a foundation.
And this month, we get to stand on it together.
