In early 2011, I was sitting on the couch nursing my youngest son, Owen, watching Nigella Lawson’s show Nigella Feasts on Food Network with Oliver. He had come home from school, and in that late afternoon energy lull before dinner, he snuggled in next to me to visit with his brother and watch a show. That day, we watched the episode where she made her antioxidant fruit salad with blueberries, fresh mango, and pomegranate seeds. He and I were both immediately captivated and decided that I should make that salad.

A few days later, I recreated the dish and remembered when he and I tasted it for the first time. We both smiled in delight and instantly knew it was a new favorite. It is a simple combination of fruits, yet surprisingly delightful! I often made that salad for the next few years, and he loved it every time. Oliver had a way of being extra appreciative whenever I made one of his favorite foods for him, and it always warmed my heart. He was an incredibly sweet and grateful person.

He died over eight years ago, and I hadn’t made that salad in perhaps nine years or more. A few weeks ago, I was at the grocery store with blueberries and pomegranate in my cart, and I consciously decided to add the mango. I checked in with myself to see if I was ready to make that salad again, and surprisingly, I found that I was.

Over the past eight years, I’ve spent a great deal of time thinking about the goals of grief recovery. In my training with David Kessler, I discovered two goals: Can I remember my loved one with more love and joy than sorrow? Can I get to a place where this loss no longer owns me?

Before this autumn, making that salad would have been difficult for me. There were occasions when I had all the ingredients in my house simultaneously but did not put them together. That fruit salad held such tender memories, and for a long, long time, I couldn’t go there.

I spent the early part of this fall clearing out his room and creating a space to make art and record videos to support people with grief recovery. That process freed me from the heaviness of the way he died and helped me reconnect to the amazing person he was. Changing his bedroom into the Maker’s Space makes me feel as though we are working alongside each other when I’m in there. I have had a close relationship with him in spirit form since he died, and now that relationship has deepened. Now, it is easier for me to remember his talents and hobbies and the parts of his personality and character we loved most. Transforming his room helped me transform my grief, and consequently, I can now enjoy one of our favorite foods. At long last, it brings me joy rather than sorrow.

I also know that my grief is healing because navigating the grocery store no longer feels like running the gauntlet of grief. I used to leave an abandoned shopping cart to cry in the car or restroom after encountering a beloved food and return to the store puffy-eyed. Periodically, I still get very sad in the grocery store, but it’s much less intense now. I can’t say I never have a tear come to my eye when I see his favorite holiday gingerbread cookies on the shelf at Trader Joe’s, but it no longer feels overwhelming. That is one way the experience of the death of my son no longer owns me.

So, this Christmas, I made one of Oliver’s favorite foods for the first time in nine years. I felt close to him as I remembered for a moment what it felt like to enjoy something we both loved together.

Recently, I released a free mini-course titled “How to Make It Through the Holidays Without Your Person.” In it, I discuss ways to honor your grief while making a memorable and meaningful holiday. One of my favorite ways to bring a loved one into a celebration is to make their favorite foods and think about them as you share them. This year, I could do that with his favorite fruit salad.

My grief after working with it for the past eight years does feel different now. It has healed to the point where I can remember him with more joy and appreciation and bittersweet reminiscing than with sorrow. Of course, I would have given anything to have him with us there Christmas morning, enjoying our beautiful brunch. Still, I felt very grateful for the moments I spent with him, and I could genuinely enjoy that antioxidant fruit salad. I witnessed myself enjoying the salad, which made me feel different; it was a signpost that my grief was healing. I share this small example of my journey with grief so that you might also note some signposts. Though the fruit salad was tiny in many holiday preparations and celebrations, it was tangible evidence for me. It was the first time I’d had that antioxidant salad in nine years, and in a way, I was having it for Oliver, too.

These are the things we look for in a grief-healing journey: small steps that, to an outsider, might seem so simple as to be overlooked, but to the person missing their loved one and taking the step, are enormous.

I want you to know that if you can relate to this story and are bravely moving forward without your loved one physically with you, I see you, I feel your pain. I know where you’re coming from.

And I wish you all the best in your grief-healing journey. May you find peace and healing in your own time and in your own way.