It was 5:15 PM and I found myself on the side of a highway in the outskirts of Spartanburg, South Carolina. It was Thanksgiving Day, and my family had gone out to Fatz to celebrate.
Grandma had recently passed, and memories of her and our closeness tainted what would otherwise be a day focused on family and togetherness.
We had gone to the dollar theatre earlier; a cheap alternative for a Thankgiving outing, perfectly catered to the financially struggling, recently-separated mom and dad.
I remember sitting in Fatz in awe of the fact that my little brother, 14, was having to pay for his own meal on his salary of well — nothing, who saves for ages to purchase the newest Lego set or video game accessory.
I remember the tension and the untruthful conversation and the overwhelming sense of aloneness in the midst of people.
What was really awful, though, was that feeling in the midst of the people you know should be the closest.
We aren’t a close family. We don’t talk; we don’t care.
I write Mediums for myself to remember. I don’t want to forget leaving the obligatory Thanksgiving meal, the kind where we do it “because we’re a family” and not because any of us actually want to, and walking out on it.
I don’t want to forget the cars whizzing by and the wind stinging my face on the damp trails my tears had made.
I don’t want to forget being legitimately angry at God, because still, in those moments,
He is Lord, and He loves us.