I’m sitting here with my coffee, waiting for the snow to stop.
It’s falling steadily, the kind of snow that doesn’t make a scene but still slows everything down. The roads will clear eventually. The day will move when it’s ready. For now, there’s time. Time to look out the window, to hold a warm mug, to think about what Christmas Eve actually means before it starts asking things of me.
The plan is simple, at least on paper. Once the snow eases up, we’ll head out to meet Savannah’s grandmother for the traditional Christmas Eve at Nonni’s. After that, the afternoon fills itself in last-minute shopping in that town, stocking stuffers, the small things that somehow matter the most. Then home again to wrap the final presents, paper and tape and intention, each gift carrying more thought than perfection.
Having this quiet stretch first feels like a gift. Coffee gives me permission to think about Christmas Eves past, the ones that were loud, the ones that were lonely, the ones that arrived carrying more grief than joy. This season has a long memory. It remembers who showed up. It remembers who didn’t. And it remembers the people who made it magical anyway.
For Savannah, that person has always been Nonni.
Long before I came into this picture, before I knew the traditions or the family rhythms, Christmas existed for her because Nonni made sure it did. She held the line when the holidays became complicated. She understood that magic doesn’t sustain itself—it requires effort, repetition, and someone willing to carry it year after year.
Her son’s relationship with the holidays is tangled in loss. Savannah’s mom left them more than once, walking out and coming back until one day she left for good. Death closed the door behind her, leaving grief with nowhere to go. When loss repeats itself like that, fight or flight isn’t always the answer. Sometimes people freeze. Sometimes they step back from anything that asks them to hope it will last.
That doesn’t make it right to deprive a child of joy. Understanding isn’t an excuse. But it does explain how someone can love deeply and still struggle to show up. Grief has weight, and carrying it alone can make even beautiful things feel unbearable.
And still... Savannah had Christmas.
She had it because Nonni stayed. Because she believed that traditions aren’t about pretending life hasn’t been hard... they’re about giving a child something steady when life has already proven it isn’t. Christmas Eve at Nonni’s isn’t flashy. It’s familiar. Reliable. The kind of night that quietly teaches a child what love looks like when it’s practiced consistently.
Sitting here now, coffee cooling, snow still falling, I can see the shape of it all more clearly. The way magic survives isn’t in grand gestures, but in persistence. In people who refuse to let it disappear.
This Christmas Eve reminds me that traditions are living things. They don’t belong to one person... they are passed along, slowly, carefully, year by year. I’ve found my place in this rhythm, quietly adding my own little touches to the season while keeping the heart of it exactly where it has always been: at Nonni’s side.
We’ve become a team. Throughout the season, we send Elf ideas back and forth, trading little sparks of creativity and mischief, building joy in the way only we can. It’s not about replacing or taking over... it’s about layering, contributing, and keeping the magic alive together.
Tonight, Nonni’s tradition will be unfolding for Savannah, and my own traditions with Gwendolyn will hopefully be happening alongside it. Lights flickering, hot chocolate warming small hands, laughter spilling over, and tiny rituals overlapping like patchwork. Both rhythms, both kinds of love, coexisting in the same space, teaching each girl in her own way that magic doesn’t belong to one person... it belongs to everyone who cares enough to create it.
Christmas Eve at Nonni’s is still hers. Always hers. And now, gently, it’s ours too... a living, breathing tradition where past, present, and a little new magic coexist, steady and enduring. So that both Savannah and Gwendolyn know love is the one thing that never leaves.
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