How do I feel about Juneteenth? It’s complicated.

I was chatting with a relative the other day when she offhandedly remarked that she has never celebrated Juneteenth — nor does she plan to — because of the pain and anger it conjures up for her.

“I can’t celebrate that without wanting to kill somebody,” she told me, about the annual federal holiday commemorating the day when enslaved people toiling in the hot Texas sun finally were informed that they had been freed.

» READ MORE: The unfinished business of Juneteenth | Opinion

As we talked, she asked me, “How long was it until they found out?” When I told her that they had been held in bondage for an additional two and a half years after the Emancipation Proclamation, she was horrified. “Juneteenth should be a day of mourning — not one of celebration,” she told me.

I get it.

Juneteenth, which is commemorated on June 19, is not the easiest of days to wrap your head around, especially if you didn’t grow up celebrating it the way many did in Texas and some other parts of the country.

It’s not the easiest of days to wrap your head around.

When I first learned about Juneteenth, it also struck me as the saddest thing. I was surprised to learn about all of the rich traditions surrounding the annual observance that include parades, barbecues, and drinks such as hibiscus tea from Africa. All I could focus on was the years of misery and backbreaking labor that those poor enslaved people could have been spared if only Union troops had reached them earlier.

But over the years, as I reflected on the lives of my ancestors who were dragged here from Africa and held in bondage in the Carolinas, yet managed to survive Reconstruction and life as second-class citizens in the Jim Crow South, Juneteenth makes more sense.

My forebears didn’t have much, but somehow managed to always “make a way out of no way,” as my mother used to say. In other words, they were survivors. And no matter how bad things were, they found moments in which to celebrate.

There’s an old photo of my paternal grandparents (circa 1940) that comes to mind. In it, my grandfather, whose own father was born into captivity, and my grandmother are standing in front of a table decorated with a gladiola-filled crystal vase, a silver tray of olive-topped appetizers on toothpicks, tall glasses of iced tea, and a birthday cake set on a glass pedestal. No doubt, it was all prepared by my grandmother, who worked as a domestic, washed clothes, and sold North Carolina Mutual Life Insurance to help support her family.

In the photo, my grandparents are surrounded by friends, celebrating my grandmother’s birthday. I treasure it.

Even though my grandparents were barred from most public accommodations and relegated to the back seats of buses because of their race, they still managed to find moments of happiness.

Their lives were hard. Neither grandparent made it much past the sixth grade. They counteracted their struggles with their faith in God, their love for family, and by seeking out joy when they could. Grabbing at happiness — even if it’s fleeting, or tinged with sadness — whenever it presents itself helped them overcome their difficult circumstances and achieve their version of the American dream. By the time I was born, they had moved into a nice big house, and all of their children had earned degrees from historically Black colleges and gone on to pursue professional careers.

It’s that sort of resilience and ability to find joy amid suffering that we as a nation recognize on Juneteenth, which President Joe Biden designated a federal holiday in 2021.

More people had begun observing it after the killings of Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, and George Floyd, but African Americans hadn’t exactly been clamoring for this type of recognition. What we really needed — and still need — is the passage of comprehensive voting rights legislation, as well as reparations to atone for slavery along with centuries of state-sanctioned racism. Instead, we got a federal holiday. Whoopee! We’ll take it, but our fight continues, especially in the face of right-wing denials of systemic racism, censorship attempts regarding the teaching of American history, and the banning of certain books related to the Black experience.

Last week, I spoke with Helen Salahuddin, operations manager for the Pennsylvania Juneteenth Initiative. She told me that when people who were enslaved found out they were free, they “celebrated.” They likely knew that their lives wouldn’t magically change overnight, that this newfound “freedom” would be fraught. Still, they celebrated. “It was called the Jubilee Day,” she told me. “They ran out and screamed, hollered and jumped for joy that they finally had control of their own destiny.”

This year’s observance in Philadelphia is scheduled to include a parade down 52nd Street on Sunday and an all-day festival at Malcolm X Park, among other activities, including a performance by Mister Mann Frisby’s Jam Band and the legendary DJ Spinderella outside the African American Museum in Philadelphia on Monday.

Salahuddin acknowledged that some people may find it hard to celebrate Juneteenth. “But that’s OK. People may come around.”

In time, perhaps. Meanwhile, the relative I mentioned earlier told me she and her husband plan to do something on June 19 — they will gather their three children close and meditate on the significance of the commemoration. For her, it is a start.