Losing my former romantic partner, Charles, to suicide on January 21 broke something in me that I didn't know could break. Calling him an ex never felt honest. He was more than that. He helped raise my daughter. He showed up in the everyday moments that make a life. He was family. He was a soulmate. And when he died, it felt like something sacred was taken without permission.
We weren't together anymore, but the love didn't end when the relationship did. It stayed-unfinished, unresolved, aching. There was no closure. No goodbye. No final conversation where I could say the things I still carry. Just silence. Just a date that split my life into before and after.
For a long time, I was angry at everything-including God. I questioned how something so cruel could exist in a world that claims purpose or protection. I raged at the idea that this was part of some plan. I felt abandoned-by faith, by answers, by the belief that love should mean safety. Losing Charles didn't just take him from me; it shattered the way I understood life, love, and meaning.
For more than a year, I couldn't stay still. I traveled because movement was the only thing keeping me upright. I carried my grief across time zones and borders. I cried in hotel rooms, on planes, in places that were supposed to feel freeing. I felt guilty for still being here. Angry that he wasn't. Devastated that my daughter lost someone who helped shape her world.
Grief was not linear. Some days I felt like I was surviving. Other days it dragged me under without warning-back into the what-ifs, the prayers that came too late, the love that never got the chance to land softly. Losing Charles meant grieving not just his life, but every future moment he should have been part of, every version of closure I will never receive.
I didn't come out the other side healed. I came out raw and reshaped, carrying a love that didn't disappear when he did. I learned how to live with unanswered questions, with anger that slowly softened into ache, and with the truth that soulmates don't stop being soulmates just because time or circumstance says they should. I survived something that once felt impossible-and I still carry Charles with me, in my grief, in my strength, and in the quiet way love refuses to leave.