When I was 20, my Dad died from Motor Neurone disease.

My dad died alone in his bedroom at the end of the passage, just two doors down from my bedroom. My mother forbid me from "going in there".

I lay awake in bed thinking, "my dad is dying alone."

At the time, I didn't know how I felt about what was happening. I was numb and confused. I had no experience of death. I look back now, and I realise that I was scared. I was petrified. Eventually, I fell asleep. I woke up the next morning to learn that my dad had died that night.

My mother could not bring herself to talk about what had happened. The result was a deathly silence around the house for days after my dad died. This all changed when my mother's best friend visited us a week later. While sitting outside in the sun, she insisted that we all talk about what we loved most about my dad. Through streams of tears, we talked and talked and talked. She visited us several times that week, forcing us to talk about my dad each time. Silence was not an option.

Openly talking about death helps process grief. Death is part of life.

Talking about my dad's death was a release, and it helped me process my grief at the time. Unfortunately, not being with my dad in his last hours was the source of a deep wound I carried with me for many years.

It has been 30 years since my dad died. 10 years ago, I went on a men's initiation weekend. I was presented with an opportunity to revisit that night and role-play a very different ending to my dad's life. I got to be by his side and say goodbye in a good way.

As a young man, I bottled up my emotions surrounding my dad's death. My mom's friend was able to help me with the grief at the time, but the deep wounds remained.

Since processing and overcoming my wounds surrounding my dad's death, I promised myself I would help other men overcome their wounds.

I keep that promise by helping men on their healing journey in the hope that they will find the gift of healing as I did.