Still Saturdays

Image of Dad on the beach

Today marks four years since my Dad passed.

I wrote something for my blog - not to recount the details again, but to acknowledge how certain days still carry weight no matter how much time has passed. I wanted to write about how grief doesn’t stay neatly in the past, how it shows up in ordinary moments, sometimes without warning.

I don’t often write directly about that morning. When I do, it’s because something in me needs to mark the time—to say that it mattered, that it still does, and that caring for someone at the end of their life changes you in ways that don’t disappear.

The piece on my blog is my way of naming that. Of recognizing that some days are still Saturdays, even when the calendar says otherwise.

If you’re carrying something similar, you’re not alone.

You can read the blog post here - 👉 Some Days Are Saturdays

I didn’t publish the full post here because my blog is where my longer-form writing lives. That space is intentional for me—it’s slower, quieter, and rooted. For me, Substack is about connection. Conversation. Letting you know what I’m thinking about, what I’m working through, and what I am working on, without repeating the work itself.