It’s insane that Prince Harry couldn’t talk about Diana’s death but in the face of tragedy men bottle up their emotions

MEN have a genius for bottling up their emotions.

In the face of heartbreaking tragedy, our first and last response is to be strong — to show the world a stoic demeanour, even when we are falling to bits inside.

Prince Harry says he “really regrets” that he was unable to even talk about the death of his mother until three years ago.

And yet Harry’s reluctance to confront his grief over Princess Diana’s death will be familiar to any man or boy who has ever lost a loved one.

What are we afraid of?

That is easy — we are afraid of falling to bits.

We are terrified that if we start crying then we may never be able to stop.

I did not shed a tear at my father’s graveside.

He had been my hero as well as my dad, but I watched his coffin lower into his grave without even a lump in my throat.

I thought he would have been proud of me, that he would have approved of the way I was strong for the others who had loved him, especially my mother.

I learned to hide my feelings from a master.

Denying a heart that is breaking

My dad was a virtuoso at bottling up his emotions.

He had neglected to tell anyone that he was dying of lung cancer.

The first we knew of it was when he collapsed at work and was rushed into hospital. Three weeks later we buried him.

And through it all, he never shed a tear.

How the hell did my old man keep terminal cancer a secret from his family?

In the 30 years since his death, I have thought about it constantly.

I think he simply did not have the words to express his fear, his sadness and his grief at having to say goodbye to the family he loved.

Like Harry’s inability to talk about his mother’s death, the idea of my father confronting his unbearable sorrow was unthinkable.

There is a lot to be said for the manly virtues — courage, stoicism and strength.

Yet we men take them to absurd lengths.

It is insane that a child who has lost his mother feels unable to talk about her death until he is almost 30.

There is nothing wrong with being strong. But there is everything wrong with denying a heart that is breaking.

As it happens, I reported on the funeral of Princess Diana in 1997.

And while the world remembers Diana’s two young sons following their mother’s coffin to Westminster Abbey, white-faced with shock but dry-eyed, I recall how those two children sobbed their hearts out when the cameras were not looking.

Men and boys do not feel loss, bereavement and life-rending grief any less than women and girls.

We are just horribly reluctant to admit it.

We are taught from a very early age to be strong, physically, emotionally, every way imaginable.

And while I am every inch my father’s son and will believe until the day I die that there is nothing wrong with a man trying to be strong, we need to find the means of expressing grief.

I am glad that I never saw my father cry. I am damn glad that he taught me how to be a man. But I wish, with all my heart, that my dad had been able to find the words to tell me he was dying of cancer.

We could have talked. We could have spent time together.

I wish he had told me, so I could have helped my father carry the burden of his grief.

And I wish I was enough of a man to have shed a tear at his funeral.

It’s hard to adjust but it’s essential to keep busy

JOYCE WHITLEY lost her husband of 12 years, Stuart, 63, a former Navy officer, to bowel cancer three years ago. The recruitment consultant, from Leeds, knows how vital it is to talk about how you feel. She says:

“When Stuart was diagnosed with stage four bowel cancer in 2011 it came as a massive shock. He had absolutely no symptoms. We were looking forward to spending our retirement together.

“At first I felt angry that I was going to be robbed of my husband, something I can still feel to this day – especially when I see couples arguing.

“He passed away in April 2013. I was there when he died, along with my three children Nichola, 42, Lindsey, 41, and Rob, 36.

“We formed our own little support network and helped each other out.

“But what helped me the most was attending Sue Ryder’s group counselling sessions at the hospice where Stuart died.

“You could say as much or as little as you wanted but it was reassuring just to be in the same room as people who knew how I felt. I still think about him when in the supermarket or when I’m out and about.

“It is hard to adjust to life without him but it is essential you keep busy. I went back to work two weeks after his death and accept every invitation to go out that I can.

“I hate being in the house on my own in the evening and it is my way of coping. There is no right or wrong way to grieve, just take things in your own time.”