Four years ago I sat on my basement stairs, trying to hide my tears from the five kids who were sitting upstairs blissfully watching giant balloons the size of skyscrapers march down Madison Avenue. My heart was breaking so hard that the pain was completely physical. I had no appetite and yet… there was a turkey to cook and a smile to wear. Because I couldn’t tell my kids that their daddy wasn’t sure he wanted to stick around and I was trying to convince him to stay. Fast forward to today. Thanksgiving is still hard for me. Some wounds