When the World Keeps Spinning but You’re Still Grieving

Sometimes the world feels like it's rushing ahead—and you’re stuck in the silence of your own ache. I’m learning that healing isn’t a destination.

June… I knew this month would be hard.

Not just today—Father’s Day—but because of what this month has always carried:
Joy. Birthdays. Celebrations. Tradition. My father.

This is the first month since January 28th that I’ve given myself permission to just be—to be still, to sit in my feelings, to let the weight of it all settle in my body so it can move through me.

The grief. The trauma. The shock. The pain—all of it.

Because while the outside world keeps spinning, this month feels like a quiet pause… a sacred confrontation with everything that's been lost.

A reminder that we live in a broken world—flawed, fragile, wounded… desperately longing to be seen, heard, noticed, loved.

June used to be filled with joy:
Father’s Day.
Buffalo’s Allentown Art Festival—something we shared for years.

My birthday, just days away on the 26th.

And now? I’m bracing for it all. Preparing for impact… the aftershocks of a soul-shattering earthquake.

Because now, June reminds me of everything that isn't anymore.

Today is my first Father’s Day without you.

The word “fatherless” feels both true and hollow. It lands with a weight I can’t carry and an emptiness I can’t fill.

And as I sat with that, I was reminded—oddly, painfully—that the man who murdered my father…