Why I devoted a year of my life to grief by Daniel Rose

13 May 2019

Following the death of his dad, Daniel Rose devoted a year to his grief. Now he wants to help other men learn how to grieve. This is his story.

Daniel Rose

Looking back now, to the day I realised I was going to lose my father, I was so completely unprepared for the road that lay ahead. I was stuck in a downward spiral, fighting to keep going – to be strong enough to be there for my children and for my dear mother. The days blended into one as I spent as much time with my father as I possibly could, whilst trying to shield my children from the fact that their Zeide (Grandfather) as he was known, was not going to be getting better.

I knew that my mother and sister were experiencing the same feelings, but I found that I simply couldn’t function. My life was a never-ending battle just to get through each day. Nothing else mattered – friends, money, social media. I blanked out everything from my life except for my immediate family.

I did visit the doctor and I explained how I was struggling and was put on anti-depressants. I didn’t realise at the time but they seemed to make me feel even worse in addition to always being constantly exhausted. All I wanted to do was sleep. It was all I could do to stay awake during the day.

I was doing my best during this time to look after my mother. But if I’m being perfectly honest, it was my mother who was looking after me during those long days.

My father, Mark, passed away on the 8th January 2016 - two days after my forty-second birthday. As a grown adult with two children of my own, it was my father I had always gone to for advice. It was my father who I had always regarded as head of the family and along with Mum, had always been the most stable influence in my life.

Suddenly, the blanket of love, security and protection that Dad had always provided was taken away. But it was more than that – how can you possibly put into words the feelings of grief and despair when you realise that you will never be able to listen to the voice of - or ever again hug - someone who had always loved me unconditionally. The only way I can describe it, is as though part of my soul had been yanked out of me, leaving an empty void that would never be complete again.

I was so consumed with grief that I couldn’t focus on anything – even though there was so much to do. My family is Jewish, and in the Jewish religion, burial needs to take place as soon after the death as possible. Dad passed away on the Friday and was buried on the Sunday. I can still recall my disbelief that I was attending my father’s funeral so soon.

I was glad to be with my mother and sisters during the shiva week (a seven day intense mourning period) and I took great comfort from them. Looking back, I was still in a state of shock and feeling numb. It was at the end of the shiva week (when most people attempt to return to some semblance of normality) that I found especially hard to deal with. There was still so much to do in terms of sorting out my father’s estate. First and foremost came my duties to attend the synagogue and recite the kaddish prayer which I believe brings tremendous benefit to the soul of the deceased. I knew from an early age that one day I would be doing this deed for my parents as I had witnessed my father do for his mother. I made it my duty to attend synagogue three times per day to recite these prayers for eleven months. Many people questioned why I was doing this. I usually tended to avoid answering. If someone had already made up their mind that what I was doing was worthless then why should I attempt to change their minds or educate them? The fact is that I received a lot of comfort from attending the synagogue. My local community were supporting me in my grief. I truly believed then and now, that by attending synagogue, the prayers that I was reciting, were benefiting my father’s journey into heaven. By attending synagogue three times per day, I at least had a reason to drag myself from bed every morning in the very early hours and late evenings. This act that I was performing for my father’s soul was the only real purpose that my life had for eleven months.

I also used this time to study on life after death from a Jewish and a scientific perspective. The more that I read, the more I was able to understand the journey that my father’s soul was on. I came to the realisation that I will see my father again when my time comes and to not waste my life waiting for that time to come.

It took me a long time to reach this conclusion. Even after my official year of mourning was over, I still felt no better. To me, that is the hardest thing about grief or depression – people expect us to ‘get over things’. Sometimes you just can’t and you carry your grief inside you, constantly battling to try and prove to others that you are fine.

I was doing my very best to be a father to my children and a son to my mother when all I really wanted was to join my father. My mother was the most amazing support to me in the lead up to my father’s passing and throughout my year of mourning and right up to this day. Mum was telling everyone that I was looking after her and sorting out my father’s estate and helping her out whenever I could, but the truth is, I needed her far more than she needed me. I needed to be with her every day. When things got too much for me as they frequently did, it was my mum who provided a shoulder to cry on and by her own gentle acts of kindness, helped support me. The same can be said of my sister’s and brother’s-in-law.

Depression is far more understood today than thirty years ago. But it is a condition that I feel many men are unable admit to having and therefore, are extremely reluctant to ask for help. I can understand this. I took solace from my immediate family and my strong belief in God and my religion. However, I still felt completely isolated. My family provided the most amazing support but it wasn’t enough. I’m pleased that I went to the doctor to ask for help but the medication did not help me. I may have benefited from counselling. I would have found it so hard to open up to a complete stranger about my grief - how I was unable to cope with life. Does that make me a typical male? Probably. In retrospect I should have tried it. I should have at least enquired about attending some support groups. When one is so consumed by grief and attempting to survive on a daily basis, I felt inside that nothing and nobody would be able to lift me from my despair. I know this was the wrong attitude but it seemed like the most logical decision at the time – to try and survive day by day.

It’s now over three years since I lost my father. The advice I would like to give to anybody, male or female, is that if you are unable to cope, please ask professionals for help. Do not listen to anybody about how you should be feeling or what you should be doing. People are affected in so many different ways upon suffering a bereavement. There is simply no timer that you can set, to say that you need to feel better by a certain time. Lastly, time is the greatest healer.