There’s something about poinsettias that always makes me think of my Gramma Billie. Especially at Christmas.

Growing up, her house was the Christmas house. You know the type: a home so thoroughly and lovingly decorated that even Clark Griswold would’ve tipped his hat. And her signature touch? Poinsettias. They were everywhere—the real ones, the fake ones, even some embroidered on pillows. Her favorite color was red, which makes perfect sense because it matched her personality: bold, vibrant, full of sass, and absolutely teeming with life.

Gramma Billie wasn’t just a Christmas enthusiast; she was a life enthusiast. She had this contagious laugh that could light up a room faster than any string of holiday lights. And don’t even think about sitting down at a poker table with her unless you were ready to lose your pride—she’d hustle you without breaking a sweat. And, of course, there were the Oreos. She kept them in end table drawers all over her house, including her nightstand. It’s like she had a sixth sense for when someone needed a cookie. (Or maybe she just needed a cookie… a lot.)

This time of year always makes me miss her a little extra. It’s funny how the smallest things can hold the biggest memories. A plant, a laugh, or the familiar crinkle of an Oreo package can transport you back to moments that feel as close as yesterday. And while I’d give anything to sit at her kitchen table again, eating cookies and getting schooled in cards, I’ve realized something: those memories are her legacy. They’re the gift she left behind.

Christmas has a way of making us sentimental, doesn’t it? As much as it’s about the here and now, it’s also about the people who aren’t here to celebrate with us anymore. The ones who taught us what love feels like, who made our holidays brighter, and who left behind little pieces of themselves in the traditions we carry on.

So this Christmas, I’m challenging myself—and you—to make space for those memories. Pull out the stories, laugh at the good times, and maybe even cry a little if you need to. Then look around at the people who are here now. Hug them tighter, laugh louder, and make the kind of memories that will last long after the wrapping paper is gone.

Because if there’s one thing Gramma Billie taught me, it’s that life isn’t about the decorations (though she’d argue they help). It’s about the love, the laughter, and the little moments that make everything feel magical. That’s the real legacy.

Merry Christmas, friends. Here’s to the ones we miss, the ones we hold dear, and the memories that keep them close.