What’s the last thing you felt in your hands that made you pause?

I was cleaning out an old drawer yesterday and found a pair of surgical gloves—cracked at the fingertips, faded blue. I held them for a moment, just… remembered the weight of the scalpel in my palm. Not the skill, not the precision. Just the quiet certainty of touch. It’s strange how something so small can carry so much. What’s the last thing you touched that stopped you from moving on?