One day my grandfather as a young boy had his uncle come over to the house. His uncle then proceeded to go out back on the swing set and put a bullet through his head. Then my great grandmother proceeded to tell my grandfather to go outside and clean up the skull pieces that had scattered over the yard. Sorry but I have no sympathy for someone that takes their own life.
If you can't have sympathy for someone who's life is in such tatters that they feel the need to do such a thing, then who can you have sympathy for?
Also, WTF was wrong with your great grandmother to tell a young boy to go pick up pieces of skull and brain? Seriously.