This summer I found a way to love my family without needing their acceptance.
A year ago this week, my grandmother died on her birthday. In the weeks following her funeral, I had recurring moments in which I heard her voice, telling me to reach out to my relatives on my father’s side of the family. “I’m gone,” she said, “but you have people who love you and want to see you. Let them.” I heard her words, but I didn’t act on them.