Promoted to Chief Rolo Officer

They say grief comes in waves, but sometimes it comes in a family-sized bag of Rolo candies and a bag of pretzels.

This Christmas, the house feels different. The air is thinner, the lights seem a little dimmer, and the kitchen—usually a place of chaotic joy—is far too quiet. This week, I found myself standing at the counter, officially assuming a role I never applied for: Chief Rolo Officer.

The Silent Love Language

For as long as I can remember, this was Greg’s job. He claimed it. Most people would find the process of making pretzel Rolos incredibly tedious—unwrapping every single individual candy, lining them up with military precision on the tray, and hovering over the oven until they are the exact right amount of "melty."

Most people would complain or try to pawn the job off on someone else. But Greg never did.

That was his way. His love language wasn’t grand speeches or over-the-top gestures; it was service. He showed his love in the repetitive, the mundane, and the small tasks that he took off my plate so I could focus on the rest of the holiday madness. He was the quiet engine behind our traditions. He wasn't just making snacks; he was taking care of us, one uncomplaining tray at a time. (And honestly, he probably did a better job with the candy-to-pretzel positioning than I am.)

Bittersweet Traditions

Taking over his "job" this year felt like a heavy inheritance. As I worked my way through the piles of wrappers, I realized how often he quietly stepped in to fill the gaps in our lives. Doing it on my own was bittersweet—my hands were doing the work, but my heart was looking for the person who usually

occupied that space at the counter.

I’m learning that grief and gratitude aren't mutually exclusive. They can sit at the same table. I am heartbroken that he isn’t here to unwrap the candy, but I am so incredibly grateful that I had a man who loved me enough to make the "tedious" parts of life feel easy. Love doesn’t disappear when the person does; it lingers in the sticky sugar on the counter and the habits we keep alive.

Let’s Talk About Your "Inherited" Chores

One of the strangest parts of loss is realizing all the small things the other person "just did" that we now have to do ourselves. It’s in those moments—standing over a trash can full of candy wrappers or taking out the bins—that we realize how much we were truly cared for.

I’d love to hear from you in the comments:

• Is there a specific holiday chore or tradition that you’ve had to take over for a loved one?

  
  

• What was their "silent" love language? How did they show you they cared without saying a word?

  
  

• How are you balancing grief and gratitude this holiday season?

Sharing these stories doesn't make the missing easier, but it does make the room feel a little less empty.