Great, another gap in my writing that lasts over a month. “That’ll bring in the readers,” said no one ever. I think the long and short of it is that this is the part of the emotional jumble with which I’m least okay. It feels weird to even be pumping sad personal stuff out into the void, but I do think I felt better after Part 1. So, chin up. Let’s do Part 2.

After Granddad passed, there was a massive outpouring of support for which I am eternally grateful. And so much of that was being centered on Grandma. She needed it so badly. His death had broken her in two.

“What am I going to do without him?” she would ask whenever the grief was welling up. We answered as best we could, but none of us knew loss like that. I can’t imagine losing the love of my life after more than 60 years. At least we had an adorable great-grandbaby to put in her arms when she needed him.

I watched as friends, neighbors, and practically the entire retirement center staff stopped by to let her know she was loved and absolutely not alone. Many of these were widows themselves, some quite recent. There were people all around Grandma who understood exactly how she felt and would get her out of her room and involve her in their lives.

But it would be a while before she was up to doing any of that. She was tired all the time and had very little appetite. Sometimes you could see in her face that her thoughts were miles away. We just stayed with her, talked with her, and got her to eat as much as we could. Her state was concerning but perfectly understandable.

When we had to return home, it looked like things were under control. Mom and Dad were checking in and spending time with her several times a day. We called to talk with her daily. Nothing was going to be the same, but we were finding a new normal. Then, I got another ominous call.

In the early morning, she had fallen and was being rushed to the ER. My parents met the ambulance at the hospital while we waited nervously for an update. The medical staff were able to stabilize her body temperature and get her a hospital room. All anyone could do was wait for her to regain consciousness, but less than an hour later, she was gone.

It’s easy now to regret not getting into the car at the first call and rushing back there, but I just couldn’t believe this would happen again so soon. We also wouldn’t have made it in time. She went too fast. Two grandparents dying of different causes 10 days apart. How does that even happen?

The answer was simpler than we had expected. Grandma’s head injury was the cause of death, but she fell because she had stopped eating. For those 10 days, she rarely ate unless we were watching her. The night before she died, Dad walked Grandma down to the dining room and sat with her until her dinner was served. Kitchen staff informed us that she waited for him to get into his car and pull away before she got up and went back to her room, food untouched.

Now before anyone gets angry with the retirement community, I should point out that the place is not a nursing home. The staff make note of what and how much the residents eat, but they have no authority to force anyone. She was a grown woman with a sharp intellect. She did exactly what she meant to do.

And that’s where this gets to me the most. Call it what you want, but Grandma committed a slow suicide. It put a weird shadow over everything. We were mourning her loss right on the heels of losing Granddad, and there was anger swirling around with the sorrow. We spun it as something romantic; that nothing could keep them apart for long. It’s too bad that that’s not exactly how it went down.

So hey, if you’ve just had a major loss in your life or maybe you’re dealing with a more general depression, talk to someone about it. Get some help, be it medication or therapy. We’ve got too much stigma in our culture about mental health despite it being deadly serious. Take care of yourself.