My name is Pat, I’m 35.

I’m organizing this fundraiser to take my Duch boyfriend on his dream vacation to the Dominican Republic. He has been through a lot — losing his family and spending years rebuilding his life, working hard without any real rest or holidays.

I see how much he deserves a moment of peace and happiness.

Unfortunately, I don’t earn enough to cover the full cost of this trip on my own, which is why I’m asking for support.

He didn’t just lose his family — he lost the ground beneath his feet.

There was a time when his world was full. A home filled with voices, laughter echoing through the walls, small everyday moments that seemed ordinary back then but now feel like treasures that slipped through his fingers. And then, suddenly, it was all gone. Not in a way that gives you time to prepare, not in a way that makes sense — just gone, leaving behind silence so loud it hurt.

Grief didn’t arrive as a single wave. It came in endless tides, pulling him under again and again. For a long time, survival itself became his only goal. Getting out of bed. Taking one step, then another. Breathing through days that felt unbearably heavy.

He had to rebuild everything from nothing.

A home — not just walls and a roof, but a place where he could feel safe again.

A job — not just to earn money, but to find purpose in days that once felt empty.

And most of all, his mind — fragile, wounded, but still fighting to heal.

For years, while others traveled, rested, and escaped from their routines, he stayed. He worked. Tirelessly. Quietly. Carrying pain that most people never saw. There were no holidays, no breaks, no moments to simply exist without the weight of responsibility and memory pressing down on him.

Every step forward cost him more than anyone realizes.

And yet… he never gave up.

That’s why this matters so much to me.

Because I’ve seen how hard he fights — every single day. I’ve seen the strength it takes for him to keep going, even when his past still lingers in the shadows. I’ve seen how much he deserves not just survival, but peace. Joy. A moment to breathe freely.

All I want is to give him something he hasn’t had in so long — a chance to rest.

A real escape. A place where the world feels softer. Where he can wake up without the weight of everything he’s been through pressing on his chest. Where healing isn’t just about enduring, but about finally feeling safe, calm, and alive again.

I want to take him on his dream vacation — not just as a trip, but as a step forward in his healing. A way to show him that life can still be beautiful. That after everything he has lost, there are still moments waiting for him that are full of light.

He has spent years rebuilding his life piece by piece.

Now, more than anything, I want to give him a moment where he doesn’t have to rebuild anything at all —

just rest, breathe, and feel hope again.