Finding Gratitude in the Middle of Grief: A Thanksgiving Reflection

Thanksgiving looks different now.
The empty chair at the table, the memories tucked into every corner of the day, and the quiet ache that settles in my chest as the world celebrates around us — it all reminds me that my girl, my sweet Schuylar, is no longer here to share it with us. The holidays have a way of magnifying the absence, don’t they?

And yet… even in the heaviness, I am learning that gratitude and grief can sit together.

I miss my daughter with every breath I take, especially on days like this. But I am still thankful. Thankful for the promise that I will see her again in Heaven. Thankful that this life is not the end of her story or mine. That hope alone carries me through some of my hardest days.

I am thankful for my husband, my children, and my grandchildren — the ones who are still here and still needing a mom and a Ginga who shows up, even with a broken heart. I’ve come to understand that they are walking their own grief journey too. And showing up for them, even when the waves hit hard, is one way I honor my girl.

Over time, I’ve found small, sacred ways to remember my daughter during the holidays. They aren’t big or elaborate — just little threads that keep her woven into our traditions. For Thanksgiving, it’s Sister Schubert rolls. They were her absolute favorite, and baking them fills the house with a smell that brings her close for a moment. It’s a simple thing, but it matters. These little rituals remind me that love doesn’t end. It changes shape, but it never leaves.

If you are facing Thanksgiving with a heavy heart this year, I want you to know you’re not alone. I know how hard it is to hold grief in one hand and gratitude in the other. I know how strange it feels to laugh, to cry, to remember, and to keep going — all in the same day.

My prayer for you this Thanksgiving is that, even in the sorrow, you can see a small glimmer of the blessings still around you. Not to erase your grief, not to push it away, but to remind you that your story still holds beauty too. That you are still surrounded by love. And that your precious child is still a part of your holidays — in your memories, in your traditions, in your heart.

May you feel their presence.
May you feel God’s comfort.
And may you find at least one thing — even just one — to whisper thank You for this year.

You are held, Mama.
You are loved.
And you’re not walking this road alone.