Nancy’s Last Touch

Nothing has changed, except her texture — now a memory. To recall touch in the mind alone is a strange thing.

The day we said goodbye to Nancy, everything slowed down. The weight of knowing it was her final day made every moment feel suspended, like we were already living through a memory. We clung to the smallest details — a look, a breath, the softness of her fur.

That’s what this series is about: holding onto feeling through image. My eyes barely stayed open that day; I didn’t need sight — I just wanted to feel. I remember falling asleep with my face nestled into her coat. She stayed still, proud and gentle as she had always been, holding her family one last time — protecting us.

Light touched her fur all day long, like an angel being seen clearly for the first time — or maybe the light was always there, and that was the first time I truly noticed.

Nancy was patient, graceful, and deeply knowing. she had carried the soul of someone who had already lived many lives. Her passing isn’t just sorrow — it’s a grounded softness I carry within me. A presence that stays.