'Succession's' latest episode captured the trauma of sudden grief so well that I could hardly bear to rewatch it

• Warning: Major spoilers ahead for the newest episode of "Succession," titled "Connor's Wedding."
• HBO's acclaimed drama series took an unexpected turn just 15 minutes into Sunday's new episode.

Three hours after the credits rolled on "Succession" season four, episode three ("Connor's Wedding"), I was still in a daze. My usual Sunday HBO night was in disarray. Instead of eagerly pressing play on a rewatch as I normally do with a major drama series I'm writing or podcasting about, I felt drained.

I'll just rewatch it in the morning, I told myself.

But even in the bright daylight of a Los Angeles morning, my cursor froze over the "play" button. I had been crying off and on ever since Roman Roy answered his phone and learned that his father was dying or dead already.

As the news rolled through each character, and they reacted in real time to the confusing news of Logan's death, I was silently crying for about 10 minutes straight. Tear streamed down my face and puddled around my collarbone while I tried to focus on the unfolding plot, my mind racing to understand what had happened while recalling all the times in my own life that I've learned that someone I love was dead or dying.

There was something meta in how surreal it felt to watch a fictional story about the real experience I've had where the world around me suddenly feels off-script and I'm faltering while trying to find the right lines.

I needed to take some serious mental space for myself between viewings of the episode, a rarity for someone like me who generally loves the catharsis of a good cry at a work of art. But this time, there was too much trauma bundled into the masterful presentation, and I felt a genuine shockwave of grief as a result.

My own experiences with 'final words' to an already-dead loved one were brought vividly back as I watched Roman, Kendall, and Shiv reacting in real time to the devastating phone call

All my grandparents were dead by the time I was 15.

My mom's dad died when I was just a baby in the early '90s. Heart attack. Then my dad's mom was next, when I was still so young that my only memories of her are hazy images of cigarette smoke coming from a BarcaLounger chair and the hand-sewn Christmas quilt we inherited. Then it was my dad's dad's turn. Pancreatic cancer. I was 10 or so, and only remember how thin he was in the final days and how painful it all seemed for all the adults around me.

My last grandparent was my Nana, my mom's mom. She lived with us for a couple of years, and we'd watch golf tournaments or QVC together and eat Lean Cuisines. But then she moved to an assisted living facility, and any shot I had at a real relationship with her withered.

I remember only fragments of the day she died. The news had been delivered rather straightforwardly. Something happened in her sleep. Common at that age for people to die.

When we got there, a kindly person escorted us to her apartment. She was still in her bed, they explained. We could say our goodbyes before they moved her. My mom didn't hesitate. She went and spoke her final words. Then it was my turn. Go say goodbye. This is the only chance you'll have. My feet wouldn't move. Say goodbye how? Is she even there? What am I supposed to say?

I think I shook my head. Maybe turned away, or actually walked in the opposite direction of her bed. Whatever I did, the result was the same: I did not speak any final words to my grandmother. There was no movie moment for me. I saw no upside in trying to force the moment. The guilt compounded, even as I made the choice.

And of course, the nearly 20 intervening years have only brought me newer, more nuanced lessons about what happens when someone you love dies.

Just last year, a friend I had known since high school died alone in his apartment. Those are all the facts I know. The surreal moment my husband broke the news to me, and the shaky tear-ridden hours of disbelief that followed are among the sharpest and most painful hours of my adult life so far.

I remember desperately pulling up my last text conversation with my now-dead friend, trying to will some perfect final goodbye we'd had into existence.

That was where my mind went as I watched Roman, Kendall, and Shiv saying goodbye to Logan over the phone, each unsure if he was even there on the other side of the call. They were grasping for closure and absolution, learning a lesson in real time about the performance of grief when you're still being actively traumatized.

For Logan's children, everything was wrapped up in the additional shock of grieving their abuser. For hours, we had to watch as the people Logan had hurt the most in his life were stuck in some sort of human connection purgatory, grasping at the thin web of comfort offered by contracted employees.

Episode director Mark Mylod used long shots and jarring angles or close-ups to help illustrate the feeling of unreality that can overwhelm people when someone they love dies suddenly. There's the panic that can swing into eerie calm; a penchant for dark humor to alleviate the rawness if things get too quiet. The strange way life somehow keeps moving forward even though the world just changed in a flash.

In "Succession," we see the worst-case scenario unfold because no one can be direct with each other. They're all too messed up. Too entangled in emotional neglect. There's no comfort to be found in the verbosity of characters like Tom Wambsgans, who loves to employ euphemisms and double-speak during tough conversations.

Everywhere the characters turn for a comforting embrace, they only see arms spiked with past, present, and future betrayals.

The best art to come out of the pandemic has directly addressed our shared human need for love and connection in order to survive our inevitable suffering

Ever since I can remember, crying in front of a television has been one of my favorite pastimes.

I loved movies that engrossed me so much that I'd sob right alongside a grieving or angry or overwhelmed character. "Did this make me cry?" was an easy litmus test for me to see if the storytellers had effectively done their job.

But something shifted when COVID-19 began spreading around the world. The real-life collective grief I felt plugged into was simultaneously anchoring and unmooring. My relationship with movies and TV shows and music changed as depression overtook my mind. At one point I realized I wasn't alone in crying nearly every single day, often over small events or thoughts.

My old litmus test was useless now that seemingly everything made me cry. Now I search for the spark of healing in the stories that I declare among my favorites. The only pieces of pandemic-produced media I can rewatch again and again are ones that help me make sense of the deep dark hole I've been living in since March 2020. New creations like Bo Burnham's "Inside" and this episode of "Succession" had an instant impact on my understanding of the traumatic losses I've endured in the last several years.

When I finally pressed play on the rewatch of "Connor's Wedding" late Monday morning, it was like pressing on a bruise. A self-inflicted reminder of the wallop my heart had taken the night before, but there was something satisfying in the release of grief I knew was ahead.

On my second watch, I was able to better see the signs of healing. It was there when Kendall told his dad "we love you" before he said "I love you" because Roman hadn't said it. It was there when Frank gently called Kendall "son" when the younger man was desperately in need of parental comfort. It was there when Roman collapsed into Connor's arm for just a moment, or when Shiv took Kendall's hand in the hallway and Tom finally broke into tears when Greg asked if he was OK.

Logan's death has been foreshadowed since the show's first episode, but the "Succession" creatives managed to masterfully sidestep every trope one might have expected from the Waystar Royco titan's inevitable downfall. Instead of a vindicating battle between Logan and his self-created nemeses, the HBO drama delivered a surreal validation of grief.

With time, I'm sure rewatching all of "Succession" will be an immensely satisfying experience of brilliant television. But the masochist in me is going to have to wait until the story comes to a true end and we see what new torment remains in store for Logan's would-be successors.

"Succession" continues Sunday nights on HBO at 9 p.m. ET.