Two Thanksgivings ago, in what became widely known as “The Worst Thanksgiving to Ever Go Down in the History of History,” I experienced the hugest, most horrific family falling out that you’ve ever heard of. Some truly awful things were brought to light and accusations were thrown and you just wouldn’t believe it if I told you the whole story. You can’t buy that kind of drama, no joke.

After that night, I sat down and wrote my Granny a letter that I either should have written years ago, or never written at all (and most often I lean towards the latter). It was painful to write, as I was finally telling the truth about some things that I hoped I could keep buried forever. I prayed hard before sending it, and my family and friends encouraged me that it was the right thing to do. My grandmother read it, called my parents and told them I was a liar, called ME and told me I was a liar, hung up, and she hasn’t spoken to me since. Last Christmas she wrote me a check for $60, which was one of the most humiliating and insulting things that anyone has ever done to me. I just opened it up and stared at it, tears stinging the back of my eyeballs.

I dream about my grandmother and her husband at least once a week, and those dreams are absolutely haunting. We’ll just be in the kitchen talking, or opening Christmas presents, or drinking coffee, like it used to be. It will be two years this Thanksgiving, and my stomach knots just thinking about the holiday that I used to love. Now it merely serves as a painful reminder that one of the most important relationships in my life has been broken forever.

I bring that up because I have never felt as lonely as I feel right now, in this season of my life. I know people are suffering in much worse ways than I, but this week I had an epiphany (mostly due to Pastor Heather on Saturday). Grief is grief. It doesn’t matter that in comparison, I’m actually probably not so bad off. I tend to think about that as tears well up, and I push the tears away, as if I have no right to be sad. And maybe compared to a LOT of people I don’t. But all the reasoning and comparing in the world doesn’t matter when I STILL HURT. My heart is so heavy. It’s times like these that I wonder WHAT AM I DOING WRONG??? When did my mother start prefering my cousin to me? When did my father decide he’d rather die than just PICK UP THE FUCKING PHONE AND CALL ME??

And then there’s the side of me that feels SO. ANGRY. at myself because I let my cards show. My boss called me into her office last week to say she could see something was wrong, and wanted to know if I was ok, and I can’t even explain to you how much of a failure that makes me feel. But here it is again - Grief. Is. Grief. There’s just no way to sweep all this pain under the rug, and as Pastor Heather said Saturday, how can God deal with my pain if I won’t let Him?