What We Leave Behind

Edition 38: December 2025

This year, I made my mother-in-law’s sweet potato pie, and it meant so much to me now that she’s gone. We lost her in September.

There have been numerous occasions where I’ve felt so thankful to not have drama with my in-laws. They’re a family just like any other family, but I never had to feel like there was something to prove, or that I didn’t fit. I love my husband’s parents, and they’ve showed us their love in numerous ways over the years.

I’m so glad that she didn’t do what some of the elders do in thinking that if they pass down their recipes, we’ll no longer have the same need for them, which is absolutely not the case. Even if it’s given in measurements of a pinch or until it tastes right, it’s something for us to hold onto.

When my great aunt Christine died, no one could seem to find the recipe to her split top rolls we all loved so much. It was gone with her and all we can do is try to piece something together from what we remember and what we can find on the internet.

So, I was extremely grateful that Ms. Winnie texted me photos of her handwritten recipes well before she was relegated to the bed through sickness. I transcribed her notes onto my own recipe cards, and I will guard those things with my life because at any turn, we can evoke her spirit through her food.

I was determined this Thanksgiving to get it right, so I started the day before - peeling potatoes for both the candied yams and the pie. I was in a zone, also making my mac & cheese and doing my best to be a neat cook, cleaning up as I went.

There, however, was also an ongoing battle to avoid gnats. Oh, the pesky vermin that seem to show up out of nowhere and take days and too many plug-in lights to get rid of. So, to protect my pie filling, I placed the bowl in the oven that was off while I cleaned more dishes.

Here’s why I will remain the messy ADHD cook that I am. After cleaning those few dishes, I thought to myself, “let me preheat the oven for the crusts.”

A few moments later, the undeniable aroma of burnt plastic filled the kitchen, and I quickly realized I’d left the bowl in the oven, and it was melting fast.

A toddler-esque meltdown ensued until my husband made his way into the kitchen directing me to the sofa to take a minute and catch my breath.

“We can get more sweet potatoes,” he said it as if it was that easy. As if I didn’t have so much riding on making these pies perfectly so that he felt like a little piece of his mother was still here on his first holiday season without her. As if I didn’t need her to be proud of me from heaven. As if every mistake doesn’t feel like I’ve completely failed as a human being.

But that’s the great thing about partnership, sometimes you need someone to reel you in and remind you that the grocery store is, indeed, still open. We avoided tears but they were close.

So, when he was done scraping the remnants of plastic from the oven racks, he got in the car and purchased more sweet potatoes from the store. It was getting late by the time he returned, but we mixed up some more filling. We poured it into the preheated pie crusts and while I dozed in and out of sleep, he ensured that they were baked to perfection.

Thanksgiving crisis, avoided.

This year has been hard. Crushing even. And I found myself dreading the holiday season until I came home from a doctor’s appointment and my husband had put our Christmas tree up. A tradition that his mother always kept. Her tree was going to be up when we came over for Thanksgiving. It was at that moment that I decided to lean into the holidays. Yes, I have experienced immeasurable lost, and one of the most difficult years in my life since like 2009 (yes, the pandemic, but yeah 2009 may have been worse.) I only wanted to show up in a way that would help us both miss our families a little less if that was even possible.

My pies will never be hers. There’s a unique magic that each person brings to their food. But I must say, they were damn good pies. And when my husband finished the last slice a few days later, he said something to the effect of “It’s hard cause it’s so good but it also makes me a little sad.”

And I get that. It was both a vote of confidence that I’d come really close, but also a reminder of her profound absence in our lives. But as I sat on the couch, enjoying my last slice of pie, wrapped in the fall quilt she made for us, I was just thankful for what she’d left behind.

What I Read This Month

November Reads

Story Work, GG Renee Hill

What Doesn’t Kill You, Makes You Blacker, Damon Young

Currently Reading

Toni at Random, Dana A. Williams

Curating the Vibe

A little something to add to your playlist. Songs on repeat for me.

Always, Tiana Major9, Yebba

Are You Even Real, Teddy Swims, GIVEON

Just wish me luck that I can finish a manuscript draft by the end of the year.

Permission to Write will also be hosting a virtual retreat in January, The Manuscript Series. If you’re interested in being the first to know when tickets are on sale, drop your info HERE.

About me:

I’m Ashley M. Coleman, a writer and music industry professional who loves music, Black culture, hot topics, and books. If you enjoyed this newsletter, spread the word! Leave a comment, like, share, your support is everything.

You can purchase my debut novel Good Morning, Love, HERE.