“The Days and Months: Learning to Live in the Silence”

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 me, now just its a picture next to me on the pillow.

I remember listening for her footsteps, her voice, her laugh, even though I knew I wouldn’t hear them again.

The silence was is the worst part.

Not just the silence in the room, but the silence inside me, all around.

The part of me that used to feel full, full of Jen. full of us, suddenly I'm hollow.

People messaged.

People called.

People said the usual things people say when they don’t know what else to say.

But none of it touched the reality of what I'm living.

Grief isn’t just sadness.

It’s confusion.

It’s fear.

It’s anger.

It’s exhaustion.

It’s trying to remember how to breathe when every breath hurts like hell.

And on top of all that, there were the practical things, the paperwork, the questions, the decisions, the things nobody prepares you for.

Things that should have been simple, but weren’t.

Things that should have been respectful but weren’t.

Things that made everything ten times harder than it needed to be.

I wasn’t just grieving Jennie.

I was fighting for her.

Fighting to protect Jens name, Jens truth, Jens life, even after Jen is gone, that will never change.

This post isn’t about the battles.

This post is about every day since Jen, the world felt wrong, when the air felt heavy, when every corner of our home reminded me of Jennie, and reminded me Jen wasn’t coming back.

It’s about waking up and reaching out for her without thinking.

It’s about making two cups of tea out of habit.

It’s about hearing a noise and turning my head, expecting Jen to be there.

It’s about learning to live in the silence Jens left behind.

I’m still learning.

I don’t think I’ll ever fully learn it.

But I’m trying, because Jen would want me to try.

And this blog… this is part of that.

Part of keeping Jen close.

Part of telling Jens story..

Part of making sure Jen story, our story, it doesn’t get buried under lies, interference, or anyone else’s agenda, these our our 11 years of beautiful memories, our story.

Jennie, I’m still here.

Still loving you.

Still missing you with every heartbeat. Still carrying you everywhere I go and always will carry this pain of you with me for the rest of my life, my love doesn't die.

Always your guy xxx