Author Kevin Swarbrick

After writing about the day Jennie passed, I thought maybe putting the words down would help me breathe a little more. It did and didn’t. If anything, it made everything feel even more real. Because the truth is, the days after 1 November 2025 didn’t feel like days at all. They felt like one long, endless moment, a blur of shock, the disbelief, and a silence so loud it swallowed everything and still does to this day. People talk about “The first months” after losing someone,  a love like ours, it’s something you can never measure as time has no meaning. Time didn’t move the way it used to. Morning, afternoon, night, it all blended together into one heavy, aching stretch of hours where I didn’t know what to do, where to stand, or how to exist in a world Jen isn't in it and still don't. I remember walking around the flat, touching what things, picking them up, putting them down again. I remember sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the space where Jen used to sleep with...

  The Day My World Stopped: Losing Jennie (1 November 2025) 1 November 2025 The date is burned into me now. The day my life split into “before” and “after.” The day I lost my fiancee, my partner, my soulmate, my Jennie. I still don’t know how to write this. I still don’t know how to make sense of it. But I need to put these words somewhere, because keeping them inside is like trying to hold back a tidal wave with my hands. Jennie passed away on  1 November 2025 , and nothing has felt real since. For more than  11 years , it was me and Jennie, our home, our routines, our laughter, our arguments, our plans, 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 breathing anymore. People talk about grief like it’s something you “go through,” like it’s a tunnel with a l...