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Encapsoul
A whole life remembered, and kept safe before it’s gone.
Everything they wereGathered by textOne price, all-inclusive
Remembered together.
No one person holds the whole story of a life. Everyone holds a piece. Encapsoul reaches everyone who loved them, one text at a time, and gathers everything they were before it’s lost, kept safe in one linen hardcover and a permanent vault your family keeps.
The heirloom book, $2,500, all-inclusive·No app to download·Whenever you’re ready
Introduction
One person begins it with nothing but names. No writing, nothing to prepare. Then Eli invites everyone else by ordinary text: family, friends, neighbors, coworkers. A real person reads every conversation. Each story takes only a few minutes to tell, whenever they’re ready.
Six to eight weeks after that first text, everything they were is kept in one place. Every story, from everyone who loved them, gathered before it could be lost, in a permanent digital vault and one linen hardcover to hold.
Why we exist
A person leaves us twice. Once when they’re gone. Once, more slowly, as the pieces of them scatter: the way they told a story, the advice only they gave, each one held by a different person who loved them, and no one left holding all of it.
We’re here for the second leaving. Not to make the grief smaller, but to gather the whole of them, every piece from everyone who loved them, and keep it somewhere safe.
Who holds the pieces
After a funeral, dozens of people each carry part of who they were. Eli reaches each of them by text, wherever they are.
The coworker who sat beside them for twelve years·The neighbor who waved every morning·The college roommate who saw them unguarded·The cousin who kept every letter·The friend from the Tuesday card game·The grandchild who called every Sunday·The coworker who sat beside them for twelve years·The neighbor who waved every morning·The college roommate who saw them unguarded·The cousin who kept every letter·The friend from the Tuesday card game·The grandchild who called every Sunday·
Each one gets one quiet text. No app, no login, nothing they have to get right. A person reads every conversation before a single message is sent. Apart, the pieces fade; gathered now, while everyone still remembers, they last.
A gentle way to be asked
Meet Eli.
Eli asks by text for one memory. No app, no login, just a reply. Not the whole story, just the small, true thing: the way they answered the phone, already smiling. One question, then quiet. Answer when you can. Each answer becomes one more piece of who they were, kept safe while it is all still close.
A real person reads every conversation. If someone would rather not, Eli asks once, and never again.
9:41
E
EncapsouliMessage
Hi Sarah — the Johnson family is creating a memorial for David, and they included you as someone who knew him well. Would you be willing to share a memory?
Oh, absolutely. David was my neighbor for 15 years. I’d love to share something.
Thank you, Sarah. Whenever you’re ready — just reply with a memory, a photo, or even a voice note.
David used to bring us tomatoes from his garden every summer. He never knocked — just left them on the porch with a little note. The last one said “Best batch yet.”
That’s beautiful. Do you happen to have a photo of David in the garden, or of those tomatoes?
Perfect. That’s been saved to the memorial. Thank you, Sarah — the family will love this.
iMessage
The longer conversation
Some people hold more than a text can carry.
Most memories arrive in a couple of minutes, by text. But a few people hold more: the ones who knew them longest, and the ones who remember the world they moved through. Those are the people we ask to say more.
A few longer conversations, each turned toward a different era and a different side of them: a mother, a spouse, a childhood friend, the coworker of thirty years. Together they let the whole of a person come through, many living voices instead of one side of them, secondhand.
Always an invitation, never a task. A real person places the call. You never have to.
Everyone who loved them holds a piece: the one story each can tell, the photograph no one else kept. All of it gathered before it fades, and pressed into one linen hardcover your family can hold and hand down.
How we care for this
Six promises.
These are the rules everything else answers to: how we hold a life while we gather it, memory by memory, into one book that outlasts us.
01
Human review, alwaysA person reads every conversation before a word of it reaches you.
02
Two reminders, then restIf someone doesn’t reply, Eli waits: a gentle note around day three, one more around day seven, and never a third. Then it rests.
03
Nothing prints without your yesThe full book comes to you first. Read it slowly, change any line. No page goes to press until you say yes.
04
The stories are yoursWhat people share is yours, not ours. It lives in your private vault. Never on our website, never sold, never on display.
05
One price, decided once$2,500, all-inclusive. No tiers, no add-ons, nothing to weigh in a hard week. What it holds is everyone who loved them, gathered into one private vault and one hardcover linen heirloom.
06
Fourteen days, no questionsFourteen days to change your mind, every dollar back. If no memories ever arrive, the refund is just as full, with nothing to explain.
In plain numbers
What it takes to gather everything they were, from everyone who loved them.
5
minutes for one person to begin, no app to download
2
minutes to add a memory from your phone, or take longer whenever the words come
6–8
weeks from the first text to the hardcover at your door
Our craft
Every memory that comes in, the long story, the photo kept in a drawer for years, is read by a person. One by one they become a whole life: everything they were, gathered from everyone who loved them and kept safe before it’s lost. The linen-bound heirloom is how it lasts.
No rush. Whenever you’re ready.
When you are, the first text is a small one, and from there everyone who loved them helps gather a whole life, the ordinary details and all, before it slips away.