On the night of January 3rd, 2026, the moon rose full and luminous over Kenya, casting a pale silver glow across the earth. It was the kind of moon that makes the world feel hushed, as if everything living knows to slow down and listen. In that quiet light, with her family gathered close, Kirsty van Zeller — née Smith — slipped gently from this world after a courageous battle with cancer.

She was far too young.
And she was everything.

To say that Kirsty was part of the Sheldrick Wildlife Trust is not enough. To know the Trust was to know Kirsty. For ten years, she stood at its heart — often unseen, often unnamed, but always essential. She did not seek the spotlight. She preferred to work quietly, deliberately, ensuring that everything and everyone around her was cared for, understood, and valued.

She was Angela’s right hand, a steady presence in moments of pressure and growth, helping shape the organisation into what it is today. Systems, relationships, stories — Kirsty touched them all. She built bridges between people and elephants, between distant hearts and the fragile lives they sought to protect.

If you ever visited the Nursery, you likely met her.

Perhaps she greeted you with that unmistakable warmth — a smile that felt like an invitation, a voice that made you feel immediately at ease. If you reached out to the Trust with a question or a concern, there is a good chance Kirsty was the one who answered. If you followed the Nursery livestreams from thousands of miles away, you almost certainly heard her voice — calm, welcoming, full of quiet joy.

Even through a screen, she had a way of making people feel seen.

But it was with animals that Kirsty’s essence shone most clearly.

She saw brilliance in all of earth’s creatures — not just the charismatic, not just the vulnerable, but every life, large or small. To her, each being was worthy of respect and attention. That belief wasn’t philosophical. It was lived.

At the Nursery, orphaned elephants were drawn to her as if by instinct. They would gather beside her, legs folded awkwardly beneath massive bodies, eyes closed in deep trust as they suckled gently on her finger. In her presence, animals relaxed. They softened. They felt safe.

It wasn’t magic.
It was kindness without agenda.

Kirsty moved through the world with a rare completeness — as if she understood something fundamental about life that many of us spend decades trying to learn. She listened more than she spoke. She noticed what others missed. She gave her energy freely, without calculation, without keeping score.

Wherever she stood, there was a quiet halo of life around her.

And yet, Kirsty was not only a conservationist, not only a protector of elephants. She was, above all else, a mother.

A loving wife.
A cherished sister.
A daughter and granddaughter.
A steadfast friend.

She fought valiantly for time — not for herself, but for her daughter, who is only three years old. There is no way to make sense of a loss like that. No language that can reconcile a child growing up with stories where there should have been memories still being made.

And yet, even here, Kirsty left something enduring.

She leaves her daughter a legacy of love so vast it will echo for a lifetime. A legacy written not just in words or photographs, but in the way the world responded to her mother — in the elephants who lived because of her work, in the people who learned compassion through her voice, in the countless lives she touched without ever knowing their names.

Kirsty often reflected on the words of naturalist Henry Beston, who wrote that animals are not lesser beings, but “other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendour and travail of the earth.”

She lived those words.

She moved through the world as if she understood that life is not something to dominate or rush past, but something to witness and protect. She lived by voices we may never hear, by instincts we have forgotten how to trust. And in doing so, she reminded others what it means to be fully human.

Her illness did not define her final years. Courage did. Grace did. Even as her body weakened, her spirit remained intact — generous, attentive, luminous. She continued to give, to connect, to care.

Those who loved her speak not only of grief, but of gratitude.

Gratitude for knowing her.
For learning from her.
For standing beside her.

The loss feels impossible because she was irreplaceable. But the imprint she left is everywhere — in the Trust she helped build, in the elephants who leaned into her calm, in the people across the world who felt less alone because of a woman they may never have met.

On that moonlit night, as she left this world, the earth did not lose her entirely.

She remains in the quiet moments at the Nursery.
In the way elephants still seek gentleness.
In the voices of those who speak about conservation with compassion rather than urgency alone.
In a child who will grow up knowing her mother mattered deeply — not just to her family, but to the world.

We will miss her terribly.

But we are so very blessed to have known her.

Rest softly, Kirsty.
You were pure gold.