How My Relationship with Gavin Has Changed Since Losing Halleigh

How My Relationship with Gavin Has Changed Since Losing Halleigh


On May 21st, 2025, our world cracked open and changed forever. That was the day we met our beautiful daughter, Halleigh May — and the day we had to say goodbye to her all at once.

Since then, Gavin and I have been learning to live in a world that feels both full of her and painfully empty at the same time. Grief has a way of testing love — not breaking it, necessarily, but shaping it into something new and unfamiliar. Some days, it makes you reach for each other. Other days, it makes you feel like you’re speaking two different languages.

Before Halleigh, our love was light and forward-looking. We planned things — our future home, road trips, baby names, Sunday mornings. We laughed a lot. Our biggest arguments were about what to eat or what movie to watch. Life was simple, full of hope.

After Halleigh, everything slowed down. There was a quietness between us at first. Not distance exactly, but the kind of silence that grief brings — where you're both feeling so much, but words don’t come easily. I remember moments where we sat side by side and just cried, and other moments where we couldn’t even look at each other because it hurt too much to see the reflection of pain we couldn’t fix.

We grieved differently. Sometimes I needed to talk, and Gavin needed space. Sometimes he was angry, and I was just numb. And at first, that scared me. I thought maybe we weren’t on the same page. But I’ve come to understand that love doesn't mean grieving the same way — it means staying committed while grieving differently. Giving each other grace. Meeting each other where we are, even if we’re in different places.

We’ve learned more about each other in these past few weeks than we did in the last few years. I’ve seen sides of Gavin I never had to see before — his strength when I had none, his tears when mine wouldn’t stop, his way of remembering Halleigh that is so tender it makes me cry. And I think he's seen new sides of me, too.

We’ve argued more, but we’ve also hugged tighter. We’ve had days where we barely spoke, and nights where we held each other like we never wanted to let go. We’re learning how to grieve as individuals and as a team. It’s not easy. Some days are still really hard. But I see how we’re showing up — raw, broken, trying — and that counts.

Our love now is quieter, but deeper. Slower, but stronger. It’s scarred, but real. We are parents, even if the world can’t see her in our arms. And we are partners in this lifelong journey of loving a child we didn’t get to keep.

Halleigh changed everything — including our love. And though we’d trade anything to have her here, I believe she would be proud of how we’re holding each other through this storm.



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