GriefSPEAK: La Vigilia, Anchored in Tradition – Mari Nardolillo Dias

By: Mari Dias, EdD, NCC, FT, contributing writer

There is a quiet stability in tradition. When the world feels overwhelming, I find comfort in customs passed down through generations—rituals that remind me that not everything changes. That some things remain steady, dependable, and familiar.

In my home, La Vigilia—the Feast of the Seven Fishes—is sacred. It is more than a meal; it is a place of safety and belonging. The assault of the senses begins hours before anyone sits down to eat, carrying echoes of kitchens from a century ago. Huge pots crowd the stovetop: one steaming, another boiling over, each tended by sweating cooks directing their dish like members of a well-rehearsed orchestra. Little neck clams are pried open with care, quahogs are stuffed, snail salad is prepared, and cod and eel take their place alongside optional additions—lobster, shrimp, stuffed squid.

The kitchen is always the heart of it all: hot, crowded, loud, and full of passionate debate about the right way to prepare each dish. Candles wait on the dining room table—brought home years ago by my brother David from Bethlehem—quietly anchoring the chaos with meaning.

At midnight, the youngest child—once my son—reverently places the infant Jesus into the nativity scene, where He has been missing until that moment. And then there is the wine. Bottles of Chianti and Burgundy, heavy and hearty. In earlier years, it was my pap’s homemade wine, and so we drink to him. Trays of cheese, pancetta, pepperoni, olives, and walnuts line the counters, a prelude to the feast itself.

Hours later, when no one believes they can eat another bite, cappuccino appears, followed by grappa, Italian cookies dusted with anise, nougat candies, and Pina’s wandies. The more everything stays the same, the more we delight in the continuity—in this small corner of a world that is always changing.

I shut off the news, play Italian Christmas music, and argue with my adult children about opening just one gift before Christmas. In recent years, we’ve added something new: watching The Feast of the Seven Fishes as our house—now the hub of Christmas Eve—fills with friends. The wine disappears, laughter carries late into the night, and the evening often ends with a fiercely competitive game of Scrabble or a less vindictive board game.

This will never change. At least for us. And I suspect for many Rhode Islanders, too—we may be the only state where police direct traffic outside fish markets and liquor stores on Christmas Eve.

Whatever tradition you honor, I hope you continue it. This one is mine. Traditions ground us. They offer stability, love, and memory. The faces around the table change, as do the years, but we honor those who came before us—and those still with us—by gathering again, just as we always have.

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Dr. Mari Nardolillo Dias is a nationally board-certified counselor, holds a Fellow in Thanatology and is certified in both grief counseling and complicated grief. Dias is a Certified death doula, and has a Certificate in Psychological Autopsy.

She is an Adjunct Professor of Counseling and Psychology at both Johnson & Wales University and Community College of Rhode Island. Dias is the director of GracePointe Grief Center, in North Kingstown, RI.  For more information, go to:  http://gracepointegrief.com/

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