I had wondered about this, having read a lot of her work and a biography. She had a very hard life.
I’m glad that her granddaughter has respectfully broken the silence about her death. Suicide is so terrible. Mourning any death is hard, but losing a loved one to suicide is…at the moment I can’t describe it,and am only able to picture the inky blackness that seems to permeate the world.
I can’t imagine suffering with depression in the early part of the last century, especially being the wife of a clergyman. There is still so much shame associated with depression even in this day and age.
A couple of years ago I began an essay about the depression I slid into during my pregnancy with Lydia in the midst of Christopher’s diagnosis. I wrote a lot in a burst, set it down unfinished, added a little and then abandoned it again as I worked through another episode of depression itself.
But now, though I don’t have it all figured out, I know it’s time to write whatever I can in order to record the journey as truly as I am able.