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Hello there. If you’re reading this, it means you’re going through one of the hardest moments of your life, and for that, I’m deeply sorry. Grief is an incredibly personal journey, and while I can’t know exactly how you’re feeling, I’d like to share my story with you—because maybe, in some small way, it might help.

I was born on December 1st, 1987, in the Italian part of Switzerland, where the sun (almost) always shines and palm trees sway in the breeze. I’ve always been a weird kid, struggling to focus in class and constantly dreaming about being underwater or in the sky.

At 14, I started freediving; by 17, I was skydiving. These two sports shaped my teenage years in profound ways. Both—later joined by BASE jumping and wingsuit proximity flying—taught me to block out negativity and focus on survival.

Grieving is survival.

Grief became a part of my life when I was 13, with the loss of my grandmother. At 16, I lost a close friend to suicide, and a few years later, another. BASE jumping, which I started in 2011, brought the reality of death even closer. As of now, I’ve lost over 40 friends. I stopped BASE jumping in 2014.

That same year, I met the love of my life: Laura, a beautiful and funny Aussie working in Europe for the season. We met through mutual friends, and as a joke, I introduced her to my dad by saying, “Hey Papà, this is Laura, my wife.” Seven months later, I proposed, and she said yes.

From the start, our lives were an adventure. Our first date was in Paris, the second in London, the third in Switzerland. We met in Belgium, Austria, Czech Republic, and Poland. We travelled across New Zealand and lived in Australia before settling in Switzerland.

Once we moved into our first home, we rescued Bailey, our first dog from southern Italy. Two years later, Cleo joined us—a terrified dog who had spent her first two years chained in a garden, underfed and mistreated.

Laura and I lived life to the fullest. We pursued our dreams without hesitation, supported charities like Wings for Life, the Cambodian Children’s Fund, and the Swiss Paraplegic Centre, and travelled in our beloved camper vans. Our first van, a blue VW T5 we converted ourselves, was affectionately named Smurf.

Later, we upgraded to a bigger camper, which we called Adam, after a close friend who passed away paragliding. Whenever we struggled with the conversion, we joked that Adam was messing with us and wrote “Adam is a dick!” in hidden places inside the van—a tribute he would have loved.

In early 2022, after years of planning, we finally drove through Spain to Portugal in Adam. We crossed the bridge we had dreamed of for so long and smiled. We stayed far longer than planned, soaking in the beauty of a place we had yearned to visit together.

Not long after, Laura’s cancer returned. Three and a half months later, after countless tears but even more smiles, and after making the most of every moment we had left, I held her hand as she took her last breath.

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When Laura was dying, we left nothing unsaid. We had no regrets, except one: we never went to the movies together. Can you believe that?

We also spoke about what would come next for me. Laura said, “Babe, you’re so amazing, and you’re handling this so well. Maybe one day you’ll be able to help others go through this?”

Here I am. If I can help even one person through their grief, I’ll be happier, and I’ll know I made Laura proud.

I don’t believe everything happens for a reason, but what happened in my life has brought me here. I want to share my journey with you, along with tools to help you navigate the hardest loss you’ll ever experience.

I focus on the loss of a partner because that’s what I know. But I hope my story, and everything I’ll share in future blogs, can help anyone going through grief.

To Laura, Bailey, and Cleo: I’m still here because of you.

To anyone reading this: Find a purpose, find a way to keep going every second of every day. Believe me—it’s worth it. It really is.

This is my—no, this is our story.

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