The past five months have been some of the hardest of my life—watching my Nanny slowly fade as she battled dementia was heartbreaking in ways I never imagined. Seeing someone so full of life, stories, and spark begin to lose her grasp on time, place, and even faces was painful beyond words. But even in those quiet, confusing moments, she was still Nanny—the woman who loved books, mischief, and a good dose of Kiwi stubbornness.

I’ve been holding tightly to the memories that made my childhood magical—trips to SeaWorld where she would light up at the dolphins, afternoons at Green Meadows Petting Farm and days in her kitchen making pavlova from scratch, sneaking bites of cream and fruit when she wasn’t looking. Her stories, her laugh, her fierce pride in her career—it’s all etched into who I am.

Losing her piece by piece has been agonizing, but I am so grateful for every moment we had. I’ll carry her with me always, in the small things—macchiatos, horses, and every time I hear someone speak with that beautiful New Zealand accent.

I love you forever, Nanny.