FOR MOM
Memorial Service Video
This eulogy has been written what seems like a hundred times. It’s been a struggle deciding what combination of words would best encapsulate who my Mom was, the life she lived, and what she meant to people.
Do we talk about her self-deprecating humor that made for awkward situations? Maybe her dedication to the Hispanic community and the lives she impacted by being a welcoming hand. How about her recent love for astronomy and her desire to see the stars?
Like most, there are many aspects of her life we could discuss. We’ll focus on a few in a minute.
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As a portrait photographer, there is a certain level of responsibility that comes with capturing someone’s image. Your job is to freeze time - suspending your subject in a space devoid of life’s stresses and madness; a distraction.
It’s just you, them, and whatever is going on in their life.
A majority of the time, one image is all you need. However, sometimes, one image is all you get.
•••
Thankfully, life isn’t that way. Life is full of images that flow into one another to create an “album.”
A collection of moments that are fondly remembered by those who love you.
For example, there are TIMELESS moments like terrorizing your sisters, because you’re the middle child, or having afternoon chats under the trees with a beloved friend. There are SCARY moments like receiving another diagnosis or relaying unfortunate news to your young sons. More importantly, there are PROUD moments like earning your bachelor's degree at 59, ringing the bell at the cancer center for a second time, and walking with your eldest son down the aisle on his wedding day.
A life both good and not so good. A life worth remembering. A life worth celebrating.
That’s how this eulogy was formed. One final image to finish my Mom’s album.
Below are two images.
One of them shows my mom’s beauty and the other shows her strength.
The first image was captured hot-off-the-heels of a trip that she and I took to Mexico in 2017. Contrary to popular belief, most people don’t like to have their photo taken and my Mom was no different. She was a little defiant and very nervous, but eventually settled in as she really didn’t have a choice - this photo was happening whether she liked it or not.
The second image was taken during one of her doctors appointments in 2021. She was not thrilled that a camera was, once again, pointed in her direction, but this time the reasoning felt different. She was fighting cancer, for a second time, and there was nowhere to hide.
To me, THIS is the image that shows her beauty. It’s beautiful because it’s stripped of all the production and preciseness of the first image. It’s her, shaved head and all. Sitting in a stale, fluorescently-lit doctors office; surrounded by machines and instruments. No instructed smiles. No painted-on bravado or protective facades.
It was just me, her, and whatever was going on in our lives.
I love the first image too. It’s a display of my mom’s strength and resilience. There’s a look in her eye that says “you’re so grounded when this is over.” (I was 34 at the time), but I also like to think that there’s a look of gratitude. A now enduring gleam in her eye that says, “Thank You”. Thank you to her sons, to her family, and to her friends. Thank you for the car rides to wherever and the conversations on whatever.
Thank you for what you meant to her life and that you no longer have to worry.
•••
Shortly after the doctors visit she asked me why I took that picture. I told her that it was to freeze a moment when nothing outside of that room mattered. That amid all of the visits and the tests that it was important to recognize the situation, to slow down, and to breathe.
Which brings me back to that final image I mentioned before.
The last few weeks of my Mom’s life were… a lot. What began as a well-deserved trip to Florida turned into a month-long journey between PT centers and hospital beds. On June 1st, it was decided that I would fly to Florida to help her get back home. Unfortunately, that Indiana-bound flight never happened. She had suffered a stroke and plans had drastically changed.
The woman who was fluent in two languages could barely speak now. Her words slipped in and out of versions of English, Spanish, and other incoherent sounds - but that didn’t stop her from speaking with an unbound confidence and fervor. If she had something to say; she’d say it… broken speech and all.
Despite the overwhelming obstacles, every newly discernible word was a milestone. Over the next 10 days, through daily conversations, Mom would eventually regain the ability to say the names of her sons, “Kyle” and “Collin” and the words “I Love You”.
On June 25th, two weeks after having flown back home, my brother (Collin) and I would make our way back to Florida to join family and friends. This time, it was to say goodbye and to give our Mom permission to go. With her favorite music playing, we created an environment that would be soothing to her. She had been through a lot and deserved to feel at ease during those final hours.
Thankfully, later that night, Collin and I needed to stop by the hospital to relay some decisions that were made.
While waiting, we were granted one more moment to spend with our Mom - there was no agenda or need for final, final goodbyes. It was one final moment to slow down. To breathe.
Just us, her, and whatever was going on in our lives.
When it was time to go, we stopped the music, kissed her forehead and headed on our way.
As I looked back that one last time, there it was: One, final, image.
Tara Sue Grant - Mom, Sister, Tia, and Friend. Peacefully resting in the moonlight.
She would finish her (life’s) album the next morning, June 27th at 6:20 am.
And now you’re here. Celebrating her life; a life worth remembering.
Thank you.
(Written 06.29.25 - 08.16.25)