I used my Grandma Wadlow’s dishes this Thanksgiving. I was always too nervous to use them before. I have used everyday dishes, Christmas dishes, even disposable dishes in past years when hosting family at my home for the holidays. However, this year, I wanted something different. I wanted to eat delicious once-a-year food on fine china.

China that belonged to my grandmother and originated from her mother-in-law, my great-grandmother, Helen Wadlow. China that has been passed down from my great-grandmother’s warm and lovely kitchen to my grandmother’s warm and lovely kitchen to my warm and lovely kitchen. China my grandmother cherished, not only due to their delicate beauty but also because of the special memories of years of family get-togethers and holiday traditions they hold. My grandma had so many pieces that now, my mother, my aunt, and I each have a complete set.

So many years’ worth of memories etched in the precious surface of these timeless dishes. The years of laughter. The years of tears. The years we all gathered together. The years someone was absent. The years we invited friends. The years those friends became family. The years we didn’t realize, at the time, would never again look the same.

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Sadly, family members dwindle one by one—life situations, deaths, spending holidays at spouse’s family gatherings. Each holiday that passes makes me wonder how many are left? Not to be morbid, but life is full of surprises. And sometimes it changes things in ways we may never expect.

I know how sad it is to face that empty chair this time of year. I know how hard it is to see the happy, upbeat, over-the-top posts from others when you are feeling anything but ‘happy and upbeat. I know each holiday carries with it equal parts excitement and expectation, coupled with disillusionment and depression.

So, in an effort to carpe diem (seize the day), I brought down the dishes from the top shelf of my kitchen cabinet, lovingly dusted them off, admired the simple yet elegant design, and had a tender moment of remembrance for the woman who chose such a timeless pattern and shared them with my own grandmother, who years later shared them with me, and I piled my own plate high with delectable food. These dishes required a bit more care. My mother refused to put them in the dishwasher, so she gracefully washed them by hand. One by one, as I am sure she indulged in her own sentimental moments focused on her grandmother’s and mother’s specially beloved holiday dishes.

It is a small thing—using nostalgically inherited pieces for the holidays. But it is also a special thing. A meaningful tradition that nudges happy memories, prompts simpler times, and welcomes the warmth of familiarity. I think my grandmother would be happy I used her dishes. After all, she inherited and kept them for this exact purpose. What good are they doing hidden deep within my kitchen cabinets? Their elegant beauty should be enjoyed by the people who loved her the most in this world. Her family. Our family. My family.

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I used my grandmother’s good dishes. Her perfectly intact china. The china I was so fearful of breaking as a kid. The china I am still fearful of breaking as a full-blown adult. Who knew how much such a small gesture could hold such tender meaning? How grateful am I to have the opportunity to serve the ones I cherish from my own home, in my fully decked-out dining room, sitting around the table, enjoying food infused with love and random spices, all atop the delicate china passed down for generations from my people?

The risk is great. But the reward is greater. I will use them again, maybe even sooner than next Thanksgiving. What is that I hear? Christmas bells are ringing, or is that the tender clinking of silverware on fine china? I do believe it is calling me to invite the beloved dishes to the Christmas table for another time of food, fellowship, and family.