Help Keep My Little Family Home in the UK

Help Keep My Little Family Home in the UK

A mother’s honest plea for stability, dignity and a place to belong

Dear friends, neighbours and kind strangers,

My name is Jo. I’m a mum to two brave, bright souls — Joshua (11) and Mackenzie (9) — and I am writing the hardest request of my life. It is a message I hoped I would never need to write. But love makes us courageous and so I’m here, sharing our story with all the humility in my heart, asking for your help to keep our little family safe, together and at home in the UK.

Our beginning and the choice that changed everything

In 2019, my wife Ashleigh and I stood in our warm, sunny South African home and made an impossible decision. We loved our country deeply. We loved our families, our friends, the familiar streets and the sky we grew up under. But we loved our children more, Joshua was five, Mackenzie was three, and we believed that the UK could offer them a safer, brighter future. So we packed up our memories, kissed tearful goodbyes and came to London to start again.

At first, it felt like a promise being kept. We built a home full of ordinary magic — school bags by the door, mismatched mugs by the kettle, laughter spiralling through rooms. Ashleigh was the heartbeat of our house, the loudest cheer at karate and dodgeball, the proudest smile at drama and gymnastics, the gentle hand on a fevered foreheads at 2 a.m. We were just an ordinary family, but we were happy.

When the ground gave way

Then small things began to go wrong. Ashleigh struggled to open a peg to hang the washing. Her hands, once so quick to tie shoelaces and pack lunchboxes, wouldn’t do what she asked. We told ourselves it couldn’t be anything too serious, and sent her to physio. It had to be nothing, but it wasn’t.

Through the isolation of lockdown, after remote medical consultations, followed by frightening medical examinations, we heard the words that would alter the rest of our lives: Motor Neurone Disease (MND). A cruel illness with a quiet, relentless and inhumane cruelty. We fought it together as a family — we laughed whenever we could, we cried when we needed to, we learned to live inside the shrinking spaces of the disease. We tried to carry joy like a candle through a storm.

On 25th July 2022, I held Ashleigh as she took her last frail breath at home. In a moment, four became three. The silence after was a kind of thunder that filled an inescapable void. I had to learn how to be both parents at once, how to be strong and soft at the same time, how to explain to my children that love does not end even when a body dies. The grief was heavy and the pain was insurmountable.

Seven months later, grief came knocking again. My beloved father died on 2nd February 2023. I don’t have words big enough for that second loss. It felt like standing on a shore watching two lighthouses go dark. I was terrified of the dark, but I had two small hands to hold. So we held on to each other.

What surviving has looked like

When illness arrives, it brings more than heartache. It brings bills. We went from a dual-income household to one income overnight. As a single mum with two dependents (and a few adored fur babies), there is not much left after the basics. We have said goodbye to little luxuries and big ones: no more extracurricular activities for the kids, no dining out or takeaways, no holidays, no special treats, no extras. Joshua misses karate, dodgeball, cricket and swimming. Mackenzie misses drama, dance and gymnastics. They don’t complain. They are children who learned too early what it means to go without.

In the very darkest stretch, trying to be everything for everyone, I numbed my pain with the worse kind of coping mechanism, alcohol. It’s hard to admit that publicly, but honesty matters. With help and grace, I found my way back. I have been sober since the 28th March 2023. Every week, I show up for myself and my kids at AA. It is the quiet miracle of my life. Sobriety gave me my hands back — hands steady enough to make school lunches, fill in forms, support them when being bullied and encourage them when they feel fear, hold my children when they cry and hold myself when they’re asleep.

Somehow, in the midst of all this, we managed to buy a small house. We are not fancy, but we are rooted. Every night, the three of us climb onto my bed and share the best and worst parts of our day. It is our little ritual of truth…a new family tradition. We laugh. Sometimes we cry. Always, we are together. That is what home means to us.

The crossroads we’re at now

Our right to stay here — our safety, our stability, our home — depends on securing Indefinite Leave to Remain (ILR) by December 2025. It is our final chance to apply. ILR would end the constant fear of visas expiring and futures unravelling. It would mean Joshua can chase the ball again and Mackenzie can step back onto a stage. It would mean I could plan next month’s groceries without a knot in my stomach about next year’s status. It would mean we belong where we have already poured our grief, our work and our love.

But the costs are crushing for us:

• £2,280 - legal and administrative fees

• £10 587 - Government Fees. (£3529 per applicant)

• Total: £12 867

I have already paid around £20,000 for our current 5-year visas, quietly, determinedly, alone. We receive no benefits beyond the healthcare we paid for, and after the essentials there is simply nothing left to save. I can carry many loads, but I cannot carry this one by myself.

What your kindness would make possible

Your support would give us more than paperwork. It would give us breath. It would honour Ashleigh’s love and my dad’s memory. It would protect two children who have already weathered more than many adults. It would allow us to keep the little routines that hold us together — our bedtime debriefs, our Sunday homemade pancakes, our shared garden where we planted a rose bush for Ash, and a future we sacraficed for our children.

Here is exactly how any help would be used:

• ILR application fees: £10 587 for me, Joshua and Mackenzie

• Legal/admin support: ~£2,280 to ensure our application is correct and submitted well before December 2025

• Stability fund: Anything beyond the target will go toward reinstating one affordable activity each for the kids when we’re able — Joshua’s sport; Mackenzie’s drama — because childhood should include joy, not just survival

From one mum to the world

I have always tried to do things quietly, to not trouble anyone, to keep my head down and keep moving. But some mountains cannot be climbed alone. And I will do anything — anything — to keep my children safe.

If you can support, please know that no amount is too small. Truly. £3 is a bus fare, £10 is a week of breakfast, £20 is the difference between worry and relief at the till. If you are not in a position donate something small, please may I ask you to pay it forward by sharing my message. Your share might land in front of someone who can help. And if all you have today are kind words, we will hold them like a blanket with love and peace close to our hearts.

Thank you for reading our story. Thank you for seeing us. Thank you for helping us stay in the place we now call home.

With love and endless gratitude,

Jo

Mum to Joshua and Mackenzie • Widow of Ashleigh • Daughter of Joshua

Standing firm, for my family — one day, one step, one act of kindness at a time.

Ways to help today

• Donate: Every contribution carries us closer to our £12 867 goal.

• Share: Post our story to your social media, community groups, workplace channels.

• Send a message: Your encouragement reminds us we are not alone.

We are home. Please help us stay. For those who are interested ill be blogging our journey for this fund raiser - just need to figure out how to set this all up, updates and photos will be posted regularly