Colleen Boyer knew she had to pick up her camera before it was too late. Just weeks before her mother passed away in December, she photographed her, capturing moments that would soon become priceless treasures. Her mother thought the idea was silly. She said she didn’t look her best and felt too unwell. But Colleen told her, “Those are exactly the photos I want. I don’t want fake photos.” Nothing about her mother had ever been fake. The images showed her hands, worn from decades of raising nine children, caring for grandchildren, and working in her church rectory. They showed her Irish eyes, radiant smile, and the quiet strength she carried through life. For Colleen, those pictures hold the power to bring back the memories of that day—the words, the hugs, even the familiar smells.
The decision to photograph her mom was influenced by the tremendous loss their family had endured only six months earlier. In June, Colleen’s nephew Brett died suddenly of a heart problem at the age of 29. The loss was devastating. Just a month earlier, Brett had married, and his wife was pregnant with their first child. Colleen had been the photographer at his wedding, capturing moments that became priceless for his young wife, his parents, and the son he would never meet. Brett was genuine, kind, and loving to everyone around him. His death shattered the family. For Colleen’s mother, it was unbearable. Brett was her first grandchild, and he had always held a special place in her heart. Losing him marked the beginning of her decline.
From June until her passing in December, her health worsened quickly. She had already survived kidney cancer, lung surgery, and a hernia repair, but her body was tired. The family later learned that she passed from severe colon issues, though at the time, they didn’t realize how serious it was. More than anything, they believed her heart had broken after Brett’s death. She often said, “Grandparents aren’t supposed to outlive their grandchildren,” and asked more than once why God hadn’t taken her instead.
In her final days, the weight of her grief was clear. Yet her strength, which had carried her through so much in life, remained. She had raised nine children almost entirely on her own. Her parents, Irish immigrants, taught her resilience, the value of family, and the gift of laughter. After her marriage ended, she shouldered the responsibility of caring for her children. Life was not easy, but she always found a way. Her older children helped when they could, but she carried the heaviest load. She ensured they had clothes, food, and a roof over their heads. She sent them to Catholic school, got them braces when needed, and ensured they had joy-filled sports, dances, haircuts, and holidays. She had battled breast cancer, raised nine children, and built a home full of laughter and love. Colleen often wonders how her mother managed to do it all, and she wishes she had the chance to tell her again how deeply she admired her.
When the end came, the family gathered around her hospital bed. Children and grandchildren held her hand and whispered words of love as she slipped away. The silence that followed her last breath was crushing. It was a moment none of them would forget. Colleen admits she sometimes feels jealous when she sees people enjoying many more years with their mothers. Losing her only parent in her forties left her unprepared for the weight of grief. “You don’t realize how silent a room can be when one person stops breathing,” she reflected.
What remains are the memories—her mother’s smile, jokes, warm hands, kindness, and even the small gifts she always brought when she visited. Looking back, Colleen sees the moments she once took for granted, both with her nephew Brett and her mom. That year of loss taught her a painful but powerful truth: tomorrow is never promised. Her mother’s legacy now lives on in the lessons she left behind. Colleen carries them with her daily. Take the picture, forgive quickly, love deeply, and embrace today’s gift.
