The Day My World Stopped: Losing Jennie (1 November 2025)

 The Day My World Stopped: Losing Jennie (1 November 2025)

1 November 2025.

A date I’ll never escape.

A date that carved itself into me the moment it happened.

The day everything I knew, everything I loved, everything I built my life around… stopped.

It’s the day I lost my fiancée, my partner, my soulmate, my world, my Jennie.

Even now, writing this, I still don’t know how to make sense of it.

How do you put into words the moment your entire world collapses?

How do you explain the silence, the person you shared your life with?

But I need to try.

Because keeping it inside feels like trying to hold back a storm with my bare hands.

Jennie passed away on 1 November 2025, and nothing has feels real since.

For more than 11 years, it was me and Jennie and the Grandkids, our home, our routines, our laughter, our arguments, our stupid jokes, our late‑night chats, our mornings, our nights, our life.

We built everything together.

We survived things together.

We fought battles side by side that nobody else even knew about.

And then suddenly, I was standing in a world where Jennie wasn’t here anymore.

People talk about grief like it’s a journey, like you “go through” it and eventually come out the other side.

But when you lose the person you shared your life with, the person who was your home, it isn’t a journey.
It’s a collapse.
It’s the floor disappearing beneath you.
It’s waking up every morning and remembering all over again that the person you love isn’t coming back.

The days after Jen passed were a blur.

Shock.
Paperwork.
Phone calls.
Questions.
Silence.
A kind of silence that doesn’t just fill a room, it fills your chest with pain and sorrow.

I didn’t sleep.
I didn’t eat properly.
I didn’t know what to do with myself.
I still don’t.

I kept expecting Jennie to walk into the room.
I kept expecting Jen's voice.
Jen's laugh.
Jen's presence.
Just Jennie!

But Jennie wasn’t there. And the world didn’t stop.

People carried on like nothing had happened.
But for me, everything has.

I’m writing this because I need somewhere to put the truth of what we lived, what we survived, and what I’m still living through now.
I need somewhere to say Jen's name without feeling like I’m going to fall apart.
I need somewhere to honour the woman I loved for more than a decade, the woman who filled my life with love, warmth, and meaning.

This isn’t a post about healing.
I’m nowhere near that point, if that point even exists.
This is a post about loss, about love, and about the moment everything changed.

Jennie, I miss you more than I can ever put into words.

I love you more than anyone will ever understand.
I don’t know how to do life without you.
But I’m trying to keep going, one breath at a time, because I know you’d want me to.

This is the first blog post I’ve written since you passed.
It won’t be the last — I promise you that.
I’ll keep telling our story, the real story, because you deserve that.
Because our life together mattered.
Because our love was real.

And no matter what others try to twist, no matter what paperwork has been taken, no matter what stories are being manipulated to suit someone else’s agenda — none of that changes the truth.
None of that erases us.
None of that rewrites the life we shared.

But that’s another blog post.
A different truth for another day.

This one is about us — our love, our memories, our time together.
True love doesn’t die.
Our memories don’t fade.
My love lives on.

Always.