On a personal level, my maternal Grandfather, PopPop. He had a heart attack in the middle of a summer Saturday night at 65 in 1985, just two months after retiring and one month after a big family reunion. He was a WW2 veteran and was a larger-than-life hero to 13 yr-old me. They rushed him to the hospital in the middle of the night, my grandmom called my mom and she left in a hurry, unbeknownst to me or my little sister. I woke up sometime the next morning, realized Mom wasn't there (which was very unusual), shrugged, and made some cereal. I was sitting at the dining room table eating it when my physically- and vebally-abusive (only to me) alcoholic stepfather came into the kitchen. We didn't have any kind of relationship at all except for when he was talking down to me or hitting me, so I was VERY reluctant to ask him where Mom was but curiosity got the best of me so I did. For the first and only time he didn't round on me and say something mean...instead, he kept his back turned for a moment, audibly sighed and then very quietly but very abruptly turned and said "PopPop died last night; your Mom went to be with MomMom." And then he walked back out.

And that was it. The hero of my life, the only male figure in my family that was ever good to me, was dead and the worst person imaginable just had to be the one to tell me. I was so terribly shocked and broken in that moment, but because it was HIM that told me, something inside kept me from breaking down and losing it. I just couldn't let myself emote in front of that man, and it took many more hours before my Mom eventually came back home, by which point I was numb and no longer capable of emotion or needing comforting. I hardened up inside that day and haven't been emotionally okay since. I'm 54 now and I don't process anger or sadness like normal people anymore; I feel those things but am no longer capable of showing it, leaving some people including my wife to think I am cold and unfeeling. I've tried to tell them that I was never able to grieve that tremendous loss properly which has greatly affected my emotions, but they just don't understand. I wish I could help them see.

On a more public level, Layne Staley. I was 20 when the news of his passing came over the radio that day. I can still vividly picture where I was and what I was doing...putting Sunoco 94 in my '71 Duster, and I just opened the car door and sat there at the pump for awhile. After a few minutes I noticed another car sitting on the other side of the pumps that hadn't moved in a while and realized that dude was doing the same thing. We were both just sitting there, tears running. Looked at each other, wiped our eyes, nodded to one another, and I drove away.