Mine was probably the end of last year, when I had 2 grandparents die within a month.

[hider=The First One]The first one was my grandmother on my dad's side, who was the sweetest and busiest lady in the entire world. I - as well as my entire family on her side - was extremely close to her. She was diagnosed with small cell carcinoma (lung cancer, pretty much the worst kind) just before Christmas 2015, and I didn't know until january 2016. We were hopeful because this type of cancer is often responsive to treatment (although very violent) and as she went through chemo and radiation, the tumors seemed to be shrinking. 

Things seemed to be going well until August when, the day after my aunt's wedding shower, my nan was found in bed confused and unable to get up even to use the bathroom. She was rushed to the hospital and it was found that she had broken her hip a few weeks earlier and had been walking on the damn thing until the stress became too much for her legs to handle. For the first few days in hospital she was hopelessly confused - she had no idea where she was, and she seemed to be stuck in a different time and place. Watching that was one of the hardest parts of it, but luckily after a few days she came back to her senses and remained aware and in her right mind for the rest of her stay. 

After a few weeks in hospital she was deemed healthy enough to go home - with in-home care, of course. She was home with home care for about two weeks (during which my dad, her son, was away on business, which absolutely killed him) before she had a lung collapse and was rushed back to a hospital that was closer to us. There we found out that the cancer had grown again and was spreading, and that she had [i]maybe[/i] two weeks left. Now, this hospital wasn't the same as the first; the first was about an hour's drive away, but was less crowded and thus she had a larger room. 

The second hospital was the local city hospital, and she found herself in a small room in the palliative care unit. Now, palliative care is where they put patients to make them comfortable in the days before they die, so this floor was incredibly depressing. We made do, and squeezed our huge family into the room and filled the air around my grandmother with laughter. There was always someone with her, no matter what. (There's a funny story in here about the time there was a flood on her floor, but it's kinda long and I won't put it here unless someone is really interested). Now, the way my city is set up, this hospital happened to be in walking distance from my university. As such, I made a lot of after school trips to the hospital to hang out with my nan, knowing that she loved my visits and that my time with her was limited.

(It's worth noting that this was my first semester of university and this point I was really having a hard time thinking about anything but my nan. I did actually do pretty well that semester, for some reason, but it certainly wasn't fun)

Eventually she was in pain so she was being more and more heavily medicated, to the point where she slept most of the time. This was really hard to bear, seeing this vibrant woman, a woman who suffered two small strokes (resulting in a blind eye) while at her job [i]at the hospital[/i] and didn't think it warranted concern, a woman who, at 71, refused to retire and only ended up taking extended disability for her goddamn cancer treatment, and who [i]walked on a goddamn broken hip for two weeks[/i], stuck sleeping all the time. I knew it wasn't what she would have wanted. 

By the time I said my final goodbyes to her, she was in a sleep that she would never wake up from. We left the hospital, me and my family and my grandmother/great aunt (this grandmother's older sister) and, something that pisses me off to this day, had to walk out the hospital doors past a man in a wheelchair and a woman [i]smoking[/i] next to the [i]goddamn "No Smoking" sign[/i]. >:C

Anyway, we went to a restaurant to try and cheer ourselves up, and as we were finishing, my dad got a call from the hospital saying my nan was taking a turn for the worse. We all hurried back to the hospital, where my parents and other nan rushed in and my brother and I went to the mall to throw money at the problem (oh, and we did). My brother, 15 at the time, and I, 18 at the time, ended up spending the weekend at home alone because my parents were afraid to leave in case my nan slipped away while they were gone. (There's another funny story there, but again, too many words). One time my mom came home for about half an hour, but rushed back in soon after. 

At any rate, that monday was Thanksgiving (which is in October in Canada), which I spent at my boyfriend's house while my brother did something else that I can't remember. When I got home, my mother was there, and informed me that my nan had passed away while I was driving home, and she hadn't called because she was worried I would be too upset to drive. That night, and several after, my family members gathered at my house to grieve, reminisce, and write her obituary. I took a few days off from school, as did my brother. The following months were incredibly tough, and we all still feel the effects of her passing. She was such a big part of all of our lives, I'm sure nothing will ever be the same. [/hider]

[hider=The Second One]The second grandparent was my grandfather on my mother's side. He's a very different story, in that while he was a great and kind, funny man when I was young, he'd been completely disabled by Dementia for seven years. I have a lot of guilt over this, because since the nursing home terrified me so much, I only ever visited him on his birthdays. (This is part of the reason why seeing my nan so confused hurt so much - I'd already seen the same thing destroy my granddad).

Now, only about two weeks after my nan died, a virus swept the nursing home my granddad lived in. These happened pretty regularly, and always took a few patients with them when they left. My granddad, being otherwise very healthy (he never smoked, didn't drink, and exercised every day before the Dementia took hold) had lived through a lot of these bouts, although growing a bit weaker each time. However, about a week later I got a call from my mother saying that my grandded had taken this virus really badly and wasn't likely to make it. I had been suspecting this, but it was still awful to hear my fears confirmed. (I also got that call like, twenty minutes after having sex for the first time, so that didn't necessarily help - luckily my boyfriend is very understanding)

This story is shorter because my granddad's decline wasn't drawn out. I went in with my mother a few days later to say my goodbyes, was devastated by his pathetic condition (he was just laying in bed, gasping) and never went back. I got some flak from my cousin when she went in, because I think she thought I was cold-heartedly refusing to see him, but she just didn't know I'd been in already. 

It was one evening, when I got home from school, that I was told he passed away (much in the same fashion, I remarked, that I found out about my nan's passing just weeks earlier). I was upset of course, but not nearly as much as for my nan. As much as I hate to admit it, I think that's because I had kinda said my goodbyes years earlier. My grandfather was really gone when the Dementia took his mind away - this was just his body dying to me, ending his suffering. I know it sounds horrible, but I think people who've had similar experiences will understand. 

I think the worst part about my granddad's death, aside from the proximity to my nan's (and my resulting poor mental state) was my brother's reaction. The night before the funeral, while we were arranging the church, he admitted to me tearfully that he wasn't sad because granddad passed away, but because he couldn't remember what he was like before he got sick. That was absolutely heartbreaking. 
[/hider]

TL;DR I had two grandparents pass away within the stretch of a month, and my family and I are still shaken from it. I gained 2 pounds during that whole ordeal, which doesn't sound like much, but I'm pretty thin and my weight does NOT fluctuate, so it was incredibly unusual for me. I think the worst (and most lasting) thing about that ordeal is that it gave me this horrible fear of death, both my own and that of my loved ones. For a long time I felt like every time one of my loved ones left the house was the last time I'd ever see them. I was afraid that if I didn't spend every waking moment with the people I loved, I was wasting precious time with them. I would lay awake at night, petrified that another loved one would die. 

I'm a little better now, but those issues are far from gone. Where I used to be excited for the future and eventually moving out (I was never in any hurry - I have a great home life), the very idea of leaving home now terrifies me. I never used to be one to get homesick, and even used to dream about moving to a cool new place like St Johns or Vancouver or even Sweden - but now I feel like leaving home would be unbearably difficult for me, and even the thought fills me with dread. It's like I've lost some of my independence, and it's still scary, but I'm slowly healing. I still have times where I really miss my grandmother, and it still reduces me to tears, but very slowly, things are getting better.

(Hilarious appendix: I started off my second semester, AKA January of this year, by being the sickest I've ever been in my life, complete with a cough that lasted until a few weeks ago, losing 6 pounds I could not afford to lose, and missing the first sessions of my Calculus II course, resulting in my not knowing how to integrate and failing the class. Fun couple of months!)