I never imagined being here, writing this. At 40 years old, I’ve lost both my wife and my mother within a short span of time, and the life I built has unraveled in ways I couldn’t prepare for.

The donations will be used for urgent basic needs, housing, food, utilities, and transportation, as I stabilize after losing my wife, and my mother recently. I was a full-time unpaid caregiver for my mom while my wife worked full-time, but after losing them both in such a short time, I have no resources or savings to fall back on.

Being my mother’s caregiver was demanding, and while I worked part-time overnight shifts to help us survive, most of our household stability came from my wife’s full-time job. She understood how much my mother needed help and carried the financial weight so I could be there.

Then, heartbreakingly, both my wife and my mother passed away. With them went not only the people I loved most, but also the fragile balance I had worked so hard to keep. The sudden collapse of that support hasn’t just been difficult, it’s been terrifying and overwhelming.

One of the unique challenges of being a young widower is that there’s very little support. I’ve worked my whole life and paid into the system, but Social Security is two decades away for me. There are no programs for people in this position, and those of us who fall into this gap often get overlooked. Now, I’m trying to piece my life back together from scratch with no safety net, no savings, and no immediate path forward.

I am applying for jobs every day. I’m not above any work, I want to rebuild. But the reality is that employers don’t see “caregiving” as a valid work history, even though it was some of the hardest work I’ve ever done. And until I get that chance, I’m in survival mode.

I don’t want to rely on the kindness of strangers, but right now, that kindness might make the difference between falling through the cracks or getting stable enough to stand on my own again. It won’t always be this way, and I’d be a fool to let my ego stop me from seeking help because I was worried about the inevitable few waiting with their pitchforks.

After my mother passed, I adopted her two cats, Lola and Bebe. I couldn’t allow myself, and I couldn’t allow them, to spend the last years of their lives in a strange, altered situation, terrified. You just don’t do that to someone (or something) that’s been with you for so long, especially when they’re nearing the end of their lives. They’ve been my companions through this dark season, a living piece of my mom, and a reminder of the love my wife and I built together. I’m committed to caring for them as I fight my way forward.

If you’re able to help, thank you, from me, and from Lola and Bebe. Every contribution gets me one step closer to a new beginning. Even sharing this with someone else could make such a remarkable difference.

Thank you for even reading this far.