There’s a grief that not many people talk about; it’s the kind that doesn’t come wrapped in flowers, or in a funeral, and most definitely not in comforting parting words. It is a quiet ache of losing someone who is still painfully alive. Someone who, at one point, was family not just by blood but also by love, by showing up, by the role she stepped into. For me, this person was my Nana. She used to mean a lot to me, and that distant memory will live on. In my youth, she was a comfortable soul; a symbol of stability in a cruel world that wasn’t made up of that. There I felt so much closer to her; At times I felt she even saw me the way I did. But over the years, that connection we had began to fray, not because of time or distance, but because of how she changed, and then she started to reveal herself to each family member one at a time. 

It didn’t happen all at once. Like most heartbreaks, they creep in slowly. Starting with the comments, the favoritism, and the way she began to treat my siblings and me differently. And at the center of it all was my cousin, Rebel. She came to live with us five years ago, but to me, she isn’t my cousin; she’s my sister. Her mom, my Aunt, did some horrible things around her, making her unfit to take care of her own daughter, and Rebel moved through two homes before finally landing in ours. We welcomed her with open arms, not because it was easy, but because it was right. We didn’t fully understand the damage that my Aunts’ mistakes caused her, but we saw them as time moved. We unfolded all the trauma Rebel had from thinking her mom was a cop due to her last time seeing her being taken away, all the way to her mom staying in her room in her childhood home with men and neglecting Rebel’s needs. We made room in our lives and in our hearts for a piece of our family that needed guidance. 

But Nana didn’t see it that way. From the moment she stepped through our door, it was clear her loyalty was always going to be to Rebel, and only Rebel. She’d show up with or buy gifts for her, whispering something special into her ear, treating her like a victim in a home of “villains.” It didn’t matter that we had been there, day after day, loving Rebel through her trauma, guiding her with structure and care. Nana made it her mission to undermine that love and make everything about her needs, making us look bad while doing so. 

She didn’t like the way my parents disciplined Rebel, called it too harsh, too strict, that’s the way parenting has to be sometimes. Rebel came from chaos, and she needed boundaries. Rebel didn’t understand respect and to listen with a calm body. Her trauma made it hard for her to understand why we had to be stern with her and provide structure. Which we soon found out she thrives off of. Still, my Nana judged from the sidelines, creating enemies she called her grandkids. She always had something to say, always turning herself into the center of attention and painfully in front of everyone. I got fed up at times and snapped; I’m not going to take disrespect such as ignoring me or shrugging at me. She would constantly have something to say about something Rebel did, good or bad. 

And then came the lies. She would sneak Rebel into the guest room and whisper things to her, things about my mom, about our family. She was putting the hatred she had for her own daughter onto a little girl. She told her not to tell my mom they were talking or calling my Aunt, turning an eight-year-old into a secret keeper. She planted distrust like seeds in the garden, hoping they’d grow and tear through the soil of our family. The family that is trying to take care of and love Rebel.  After this visit to our home, when Rebel didn’t immediately betray her by telling her dirty secrets, Nana packed her things, claiming she was sick and unwell. She stated she needed to go back, expecting my parents to find out about all the hidden things she was doing to break our family up. 

She didn’t leave. Not then, but something in our family changed. Nana’s alliance with my Aunt, Rebel’s mom, only made things worse. For a while, my Nana didn’t think my Aunt was a good person or a good fit for Rebel, which helped to keep Rebel safe. My Aunt, who rarely reached out and never visited, began feeding into my Nana’s fantasy that we were trying to steal her daughter. Even though the court had made it clear, she could have her daughter back if she got her life together. She didn’t. She and my Nana didn’t have jobs, a place to live, or reliable transportation. And still, somehow, we became the enemy.

Together, Nana and my Aunt made plans for Rebel, plans that didn’t include us at all.​​ They spread lies. My Nana saw something we didn’t and tried to make everything worse. She even tried to involve CPS, saying things about my dad that weren’t true. She staged pictures to make Rebel look sad, to make our home look unsafe to the public eye. Then she took it publicly, putting our lives on social media like some dramatic story she could manipulate for sympathy. She was asking for help, and all her friends believed it was true; she was offering an image of us that wasn’t at all true. 

That was the final straw. My siblings and I, all of us, decided we couldn’t take it anymore. We cut her off. We texted her goodbye with a brief summary, and we blocked her on all socials. In some way, we thought it would knock some sense into her, but it didn’t. We didn’t do it out of spite; we did it out of self-respect. There are only so many times you can open the door to someone who walks in with poison. There is only so much forgiveness you can give to someone who doesn’t want to or try to change. Nana, for all her claims of love and family, made her choices. And now, so have we. 

My Aunt and Nana were supposedly trying to get Rebel back, but they had no real plans to be the best fit for Rebel. Only a shared illusion. They say we’ve stolen her, but most people know that’s not true. We’ve just stood where they couldn’t. We’ve parented where they failed. We’ve loved her and will forever love her, day in and day out.  

Rebel knows now what her mom has done. She’s old enough to see the truth; she’s not being kept from anyone. We’ve told her that her mom hasn’t tried to reach out, and my mom has even texted her about how she wants to talk to her. She doesn’t understand right now, but hopefully she will soon. She’s just waiting for someone to show up and stay, and my family can be that for her. 

As for me, I still mourn my Nana, but obviously not the person she is now. I grieve the version of her I once believed in, the one I thought would always be my family. The Nana I would have tea parties with, the one who would always joke back, and the one I knew I had. That version of her is gone now. She chose herself when all we did was choose others’ safety and security; we chose to aid someone who needed us. She didn’t like the fact that this time it had nothing to do with her. So she created enemies she was okay with making. I still have a Nana, yet it feels like I don’t. With this, sometimes, the deepest losses in life don’t come from just death, but from choosing to walk away even from someone you once called family.

Edited and Reviewed by Rebecca Price