On October 31, 2025, my dad called me after a fall. I found him on the floor beside his bed. He had been there all night. I convinced him to go to the ER. He never came home.
Over the next two months, I watched him deteriorate. I spent nearly every day with him, speaking with nurses and doctors, trying to understand what was happening. Toward the end, he stopped eating. He asked me to make him lemonade the way his mom used to. That’s when I knew I wasn’t going to get my dad back.
He died on December 21, 2025.
In the weeks that followed, I returned to his house to sort through his things. On my last day there, I brought my camera with me. It felt important to document that space, even in its chaos.
This work comes from that day.
Residue.
