I was living in Utah when my paternal grandmother died. She was a sweet, beautiful lady. I am so grateful that I spent a lot of time with her when I was growing up. I spent most weekends at her house, and later her apartment. She was lucid and active when she passed away, but she had moved in with her daughter, who lived near Portland at the time. She never wanted to burden her children, so I think that may've been part of the reason she was ready to go. (Quick aside, since I don't want to mar this story with anger, but I really, really dislike my aunt. She took advantage of my grandmother, and there was even suspicion briefly that she may've "helped" her pass on, but again, that's for another time.)

I felt peaceful about it. It wasn't an ugly death, and she lived a long time- though I couldn't tell you her exact age, she was in her late 80s at least, probably early 90s. I was sad that I was so far away, and that I hadn't seen her for some time, but I did okay with it. Thanks to a dear friend who worked with Delta airlines, I was able to fly home for her memorial service and spend some time there to recharge.

The week after her memorial service, we got a phone call from my aunt. She had 2 children- her oldest was a boy, 13, and her youngest was a girl, 7. The girl was a surprise- majorly. My aunt had had her fallopian tubes tied off, and my uncle had a vasectomy, but she was something of a miracle. She looked so much like my uncle that there's no doubt she was his.

I spent summers with them, and at one time had been very close to them. They were like siblings, especially the boy. Then I grew up and didn't spend as much time with them- they lived several hours away, and I was busy, and then I moved.

The call was to let us know that her son had killed himself. You know what the first thing I felt was? Relief. Isn't that horrible? I was afraid that my mother was going to tell me that he had killed somebody else- his sister, classmates, anyone else. He could have been a school shooter, but he wasn't, and I was relieved. I can clearly remember going through all the stages of grief, especially denial, which seems like the most ridiculous one to me. Maybe it was an accident with the gun. Maybe somebody else had done it and made it look like he had done it. Was he at the hospital? Maybe he wasn't even really dead. Maybe they were working on him there.

There was a note. To this day, I absolutely ache to read it, to pore over it, to see what made him do it, and to get some answers. They're not there; they're never there. I didn't ever get to read it, but I morbidly grilled my aunt for details of what had happened leading up to it. I was obsessed with trying to understand. There's no way to understand. The only person who can really provide any answers is gone, and that is the HARDEST thing in the world I've ever had to accept.

It was morning, and his mom left for about 15 minutes, to drop his dad off at work, since they only had the one car that was working. He had eaten his breakfast and showered; gotten ready for school. His homework was done. He and my aunt briefly spoke about buying roses for his girlfriend, and he seemed excited about it.

When my aunt got home, she went downstairs to get him off to school, and he had done it. She said, "No mother should have to see what I saw." I agree. Her daughter was hiding under her bed upstairs. The story goes that she didn't go down to investigate the gunshot, but I'm almost positive that she went down and was actually the first one to find him, and then went and hid until her mom got home.

This may seem almost silly to add in, but the day of his memorial service, we got a call from home- the kid who had been looking after our cat found her dead when he went in to feed her that morning. We'd had her for 18 years; I couldn't remember being without her, and she was probably 20... so that just added one more ache. It was one more loss.

That was such a dark time. I still don't know how you deal with suicide. I never found a way.

My other cousin, his little sister, is the absolute light of my life. She was my maid of honor at my wedding, despite the fact that she was only 15. I love her so much, and I wish I could protect her from all the pain she's been through. She's the one who is possibly moving to Maine, eventually. A few years after her brother's death, she was skiing with her dad, on Thanksgiving, and he had a heart attack and died. This kid has been through the wringer. She is such an inspiration to me, and I don't think she even knows it.

Anyway... I don't know. I guess I needed a mental purge. Sorry if this upsets anybody, though.