Several years ago, on the southside of Chicago, my aunt opened her home to family and friends for a pre-Thanksgiving dinner. She chose to host the dinner the week before Thanksgiving to avoid the chaos of the holiday season. Over the years, the annual dinner grew and became a potluck for family and friends. No formal invites were needed — just show up.

I still remember the smell of all the food. And it was a lot of food. There were containers of food on every counter in the kitchen. And in the dining room, there were enough desserts to cover the oversized table. In the middle of all the dessert, shining like a beacon in the night, was my aunt’s homemade caramel cake. She only baked this cake for her pre-Thanksgiving potluck.

The more people came, the more we slowly spread all over the house. We would set up a couple of tables in the basement for the Spades tournament. Music would be blasting because someone was always giving an impromptu lesson on the latest line dance. You could also count on a random baby out on my aunt’s bed fast asleep, spread out like he owned the place.

Those potluck dinners gave us the opportunity to bond and to know what was going on in each other’s lives. Around the dinner table, we gave a younger cousin advice for navigating her first year of college. We shared our favorite recipes. I still smile when I think of an older cousin sharing the recipe for her jalapeno and cheese cornbread. I cry, too, when I remember how, years later, that same cousin revealed her Alzheimer’s diagnosis.

At first, I didn’t notice the absence of the potluck. Life just kept moving, and the space it left behind didn’t feel urgent. Trying to bring the dinners back felt overwhelming. Silence became easier than conversations. We all wanted to recapture the magic of my aunt’s house but grew discouraged when it didn’t come together like it used to. She was still with us — still full of warmth, laughter, and love — but without her at the center, it felt unfamiliar. So, we let it go. Not because it didn’t matter, but because we didn’t yet know how to carry it forward in a new way.

We all had our reasons for staying away. Some of us were just trying to figure life out and didn’t want to show up with our mistakes still fresh because, truth be told, sometimes the hardest thing is facing the people who know you best when you don’t feel your best. For others, the weight of missing family — the ones we’ve lost — was just too heavy to carry into a room full of memory. And then there was life: raising children, building careers, and just plain surviving. The potluck dinners slipped lower on the list and, even when we tried to make the plans stick, they flew away in the wind. Eventually the dinners become a distant memory. Life went on.

Then, one day it happened. I received a message from my cousin containing four simple words: “It’s been too long.” She sent out a group text, opened her home, and told everyone to bring a dish. Word spread fast. People showed up. The potluck was back.

We all made our way to the potluck at my cousin’s house, bringing our own contributions. It was smaller, and the absence of beloved family members was tangible. Some of the faces changed, and the menu was slightly different. But the magic was there and soon laughter filled her house, just as it had my aunt’s.

She brought out her mother’s old photo albums. We laughed and cried as we looked at those old pictures. We saw family resemblances that we had not noticed before. And, just like that, the past and the present held hands.

The return of the potluck dinners reminded us that family isn’t just blood — it’s who shows up. Family is about who makes the best caramel cake . . . and who stays to help clean up. Family is about being able to get back to the sweet spot without a lot of words. Family is traditions and memories, a safe place to be yourself. Family is the living legacy of those who came before us — some of it we hold close, and some we pass forward, so the next generation can keep the story going.

Tell us about a time you remember gathering with family around a potluck dinner. Who was there and what memories do you hold dear? Share in the comments — we want to hear all about it, Sis!