The holidays have a way of turning even the simplest plans into logistics. There are grocery lists and group texts, airport pickups and travel plans, dishes that need to be in the oven at exactly the right time, kids who somehow lose a shoe five minutes before you need to leave, and the inevitable question of “What time are we eating?”.
Getting everyone together can be a little chaotic.
And yet, year after year, we do it. We pack the car, sit in traffic, rearrange schedules, make the extra trip to the store, and drive across town—or across several states—because of what’s waiting at the end of all that effort: time with people we love.
So much of the holiday season is really about the journey toward one another.
But that journey isn’t equally easy for everyone.
Maybe your mom stopped driving after dark this year, and no one realizes that a 5:00 dinner means she can get herself there but will need to figure out a ride home. Your uncle is using a walker now, and the two steps into your house that nobody has thought about in twenty years suddenly matter. Your sister can absolutely drive herself, but she needs enough room beside her vehicle to unload her wheelchair. Or maybe someone you love has started declining invitations more often, and it’s easy to assume they’re tired, busy, or simply don’t feel like coming.
Sometimes they don’t.
But sometimes getting there has just become harder than anyone realizes.
And during a season when so much of what we treasure depends on simply being able to show up, those seemingly little barriers can become surprisingly big ones.
What if we planned the journey, too?
We put a lot of thought into making people feel welcome once they’re inside our homes. We make their favorite foods, pull out extra chairs, rearrange sleeping arrangements, remember that someone hates cranberry sauce and someone else needs decaf. We move the breakable decorations when the toddlers are coming and somehow find room for one more person at a table that already seemed full.
We make adjustments because we want people there.
That same thoughtfulness can begin before they ever arrive.
If someone you love has experienced a change in mobility, driving ability, vision, stamina, or health, consider the whole day from their perspective—from leaving their own front door to getting safely back home again. Not because you need to anticipate every possible challenge for them, but because there may be something surprisingly simple you can change.
Would an earlier dinner mean Dad could still drive himself rather than choosing between asking for a ride and staying home? Is there a better place for your cousin to park so she has room to get her mobility equipment in and out of the vehicle? Could moving a few pieces of furniture keep a walker from turning a crowded living room into an obstacle course? Is the easiest entrance actually the front door? Is there somewhere comfortable to rest if fatigue becomes an issue?
Even the holiday itself can create barriers that aren’t normally there. Extra chairs narrow walkways. Presents pile up around the room. Cars fill the driveway. Coats and bags land wherever there’s space. A home that’s normally fairly easy to navigate can become very different when twenty people arrive.
None of this means you need to conduct an accessibility inspection before everyone comes over. It simply means noticing the things that are easy not to notice when you’ve never needed to think about them. And sometimes the best thing you can do is skip the guessing and ask.
“We really want you there. Is there anything we could change that would make getting here or being here easier for you?”
That’s a very different question from simply asking, “Are you coming?” The person you’re trying to accommodate knows their own abilities, needs, and preferences better than you do after all.
And the answer might surprise you. They may not need much help at all. Maybe they want to drive themselves but need a different parking spot. Maybe they’d rather come earlier and leave before dark. Maybe they need a hand loading a mobility device but don’t need—or want—someone taking over everything else. Maybe the thing you’ve been worrying about isn’t a problem for them, but something you’ve never considered is.
The goal isn’t to create dependence in the name of being helpful. It’s to remove unnecessary barriers while preserving as much choice and independence as possible.
Maybe the tradition can bend
Holiday traditions can feel almost sacred in families. Thanksgiving is always at Grandma’s. Dinner is always at six. Everyone always goes to see the lights after dessert. There’s something comforting about doing the same things with the same people year after year.
But people change. Bodies change. Abilities change. Families change.
And sometimes loving the tradition means being willing to change it.
Maybe dinner happens earlier this year so someone can drive home while it’s still light. Maybe the gathering moves to the house without stairs. Maybe another family member handles transportation so someone doesn’t spend the week before quietly trying to figure out how they’re going to get home. Maybe you shorten an outing, rearrange the room, choose a more accessible restaurant, or make sure there’s somewhere to rest without having to leave the gathering altogether.
Those changes don’t make the holiday less traditional.
If the purpose of the tradition was always to bring people together, changing how you do it so someone can still be part of it may actually honor the tradition more than insisting everything stay exactly the same.
After all, nobody is going to look back ten years from now and treasure the fact that the holiday dinner started promptly at 6:00.
They’ll remember who was sitting around the table.
The point was always the people
There will probably still be traffic this year. Someone will forget something at the store. Dinner will run late. Plans will change. Someone will bring the wrong dish, a child will melt down at an inconvenient moment, and at least one person will ask a question that was already answered three times in the group text.
That’s part of the holidays.
But eventually, the cars start pulling into the driveway. The door opens. Coats get tossed somewhere they don’t belong. Voices fill the house. People find their places around the table.
And suddenly, all the logistics it took to get everyone there don’t seem quite as important.
Because the journey was always leading to this.
This holiday season, it may be worth looking around the table—and thinking about the journey each person had to take to reach it. If someone you love is facing a barrier that makes that journey harder, ask what would help. Move dinner. Clear the walkway. Change the location. Offer a ride. Make room for the wheelchair. Let someone leave before dark. Be willing to do the holiday a little differently.
You don’t have to create the perfect gathering. You may just need to be willing to do something a little differently. Because when all the planning, driving, cooking, shopping, wrapping, and holiday chaos are over, the point was never that everything happened exactly the way it always has.
The point was that you were together.
And sometimes making room for someone at the table starts long before they reach it.
However you celebrate, we hope this holiday season brings you plenty of reasons to gather, moments to enjoy, and time with the people who matter most. From all of us at Driving to Independence, happy holidays!