Grief doesn’t always come in waves. Sometimes, it crashes like a storm.

For Daniel, the death of his best friend after 32 years of close companionship was followed within weeks by the tragic drowning of his teenage niece.

With a history of bipolar disorder and long-standing mental health challenges, the impact was almost too much to bear. But in the depths of this grief, he discovered something unexpected: the strength to feel it all. 

Here is Daniel’s story, in his own words:

Humour has always been my go-to for handling tough times. I was the one who found my best friend’s body, and within hours I was making jokes about his death. That might sound like I was avoiding feelings, but instead I allowed myself to fully feel whatever came up. Giving my emotions space let the grief take its own natural form.

I handled losing my friend well. Even though we’d been ridiculously close for 32 years, this life hadn’t treated him well. After the funeral, because I live with bipolar disorder, I gave myself a mental health break trip to Queensland: a week for work, followed by two weeks staying with my Dad. Dad was so sensitive and supportive and just let me do my own thing.

A friend picked me up from Melbourne Airport and dropped me home. A few hours later my sister called, distraught.

She asked if she could come and stay the night and if I could organise a flight back to Tasmania the next day. She was living in regional Victoria then, so I said get yourself here as quickly and safely as possible. We can talk when you are here.

When we spoke, it turned out that my two nieces and nephew had gotten caught in a rip in the sea. While two of them got out, one of my nieces was lost at sea. Her body wouldn’t turn up until days later.

Even though I knew her only a little compared to my best friend, for some reason her death – on top of mine knocked – the wind out of my sails. I tried to stick with allowing myself to fully feel emotions as they surfaced. But this mostly meant bawling, then bawling some more.

Living with Bipolar Disorder has meant I’ve had a lifetime of intermittent suicidal ideation, and I couldn’t see why my niece should die so young while I still live. With another friend on the phone, talking to me as I caught the tram to the emergency department at Royal Melbourne Hospital, I admitted myself to the psychiatric ward. Just for a weekend, to deal with what they called a “situational crisis.”

I have reflected on the way I approach grief.

I never thought I’d be so good at handling major grief as I have been. Growing up, I suppressed challenging emotions, modelling myself on Star Trek’s Mr. Spock. But with my best friend and niece dying so close to each other, I learned to accept tough emotions as they surfaced and allow myself to feel them fully. They weren’t as scary as I thought they would be.

It’s wise to be prepared for death, without being obsessed by it. At some point, we’ll all die. Are we leaving a mess for others to clean up or have we taken care of business so the people we leave behind can focus on their grief? And because of this, every relationship we’re in will end – people and pets. Realising this means we can make the most of the season of life for which the person enriches our lives.