This Side of Suicide: Using the Written Word to Cope with Loss

My grandmother committed suicide when I was just ten years old. I was an only child, and she was my caretaker. It was Labor Day weekend, and my parents were at work at their store in Brooklyn. I was the one who found her. I’ll never forget the image of the ambulance attendants taking my grandma down the creaky wooden stairs from her bedroom to the front door.

It was the 1960s, and mental-health issues were not discussed, and certainly the word suicide was never uttered. When I asked my...

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