Most of my Christmases and special celebrations as a child were spent in the kitchen. Being the only granddaughter and daughter at the time meant I was expected to help prepare the feast while all the other kids laughed and played. My tasks changed every year. Sometimes it was chopping garlic, other times stirring a pot, and eventually I was trusted to cook entire dishes while Mom and Lola rested.

Back then, I hated it. I felt like I was missing out on the joy of being a child. I thought I was being robbed of the carefree moments everyone else seemed to have.

Now that I am older, I see it so differently. Lola, Mom, and Nana are no longer with us, and suddenly the kitchen that I once felt tied to has become mine completely. I cook for my children not just to feed them but to help them cope with the absence of Nana, who prepared almost all of our everyday meals.

When I think back, I realize that the kitchen was never only about the work. It was a classroom where I was taught our family’s recipes, a place where secrets were whispered, and a space where I heard the stories that shaped me. Somewhere between the chopping and stirring, I learned to recognize spices by smell, to know instinctively how to balance flavors, and to understand that cooking was more than putting food on a table. It was love in its purest form.

These days, I no longer resent the kitchen. I treasure it. Cooking allows me to feel close to the three women who gave me not just meals but home, comfort, and love. And so when I turned 40, and celebrated Christmas that same year, I decided to honor them and myself by gifting myself something I had always dreamed of owning: a Le Creuset Dutch Oven and a Braiser.

To anyone else, they may look like just pots and pans. To me, they are far more. They are heirlooms waiting to be passed down. They are companions in my kitchen that will outlast me. They hold the meals I lovingly prepare for my children, meals that I hope they will remember fondly when they think of me. They keep our food warm, they make the table look more beautiful, and they remind me every time I use them that I deserve to celebrate myself too.

They are excellent investments, yes. But more than that, they are the most meaningful gifts I have ever given myself. They symbolize the love that was passed down to me and the love I continue to pass on.

And maybe that is the most important lesson of all. Find a way to celebrate your relationships with the people who are no longer here. It does not have to be a Le Creuset. It could be a recipe you keep cooking, a holiday tradition you continue, or even a small object that carries their memory. Whatever it is, let it be something your loved ones will hold on to and remember you by long after you are gone.