'My mother was dying and all at once, I understood how fragile an ordinary moment in life is'

A pivotal moment in a hospital hallway made Kellie Brierley-Kind realise the amount of time she had left with her beloved mum was shorter than she had expected. She talks to Helen O’Callaghan about how she now profoundly believes in the power of preserving something of a person’s essence

Kellie Brierley-Kind of Evergreen. Wedding planner and social media content creator. Picture: Larry Cummins

In 2018, my mum was in hospital for respite. She had cancer three times. She battled through the first two, and at this stage we knew she was quite ill.

We were in her respite room, just chatting as normal, when a nurse interrupted to speak with me privately. She took me outside and told me the worst. Mum was actively passing.

We hadn’t thought that we were there. Just minutes before, I’d been sitting beside her and we were having a lovely conversation, so I couldn’t understand how this was happening.

In the space of a few seconds, my world underwent a total, silent shift. In a heartbeat, the time we had left felt entirely different. Time had turned into a ticking countdown that I couldn’t escape.

She passed five days later, but it was in that hallway that I first felt the true weight of time. I became acutely aware of every second as it vanished. 

I never thought time could move that fast, and while I refused to accept it was against us, I finally understood its power. I realised that in a split second your life can change and someone else’s life can change.

I’ve never been more present in my life than I was in those five days. I never left her side. The outside world ceased to exist. Nothing could pull me away from her.

Mum was my whole family unit. Growing up, it was just the two of us — I was an only child, she a single mum, we were incredibly close. 

She worked in the wedding industry. She began her career in London, worked in prestigious hotels. When she had me, she moved back to Ireland, worked in weddings and in hospitality in a few Cork hotels.

She had an incredible warmth. People were naturally drawn to her. She always treated every wedding like her own. She had so much passion.

Kellie Brierley-Kind: 'Mum was my whole family unit. Growing up, it was just the two of us.' Picture: Larry Cummins

Often I’d come home at night and she’d be in bed, talking to couples out of hours. She treated them like family. So I grew up surrounded by people, emotion, celebration and storytelling.

Despite everything she went through, she never allowed illness to become her identity. She was still full of warmth, humour, strength, and love for people. She was the strongest, most positive person I knew — in a quiet, grounded way.

But that split second in the hallway, that was the real shift. When, for the first time, I truly understood how fragile an ordinary moment is, and how quickly those moments become the ones you’d give anything to stay inside of just a little longer.

It changed how I see time, moments, how I value presence and conversations.

After mum passed I realised how little I have of her preserved in a living way. I don’t have videos of her speaking naturally, telling stories, laughing, or simply being herself in the ordinary moments that end up meaning everything later. 

I have beautiful memories of her and footage of family occasions, but nothing solely of mum looking through the lens at me, or her voice, or just laughing.

Kellie Brierley-Kind: 'Photos are great for preserving memory and videos preserve feelings. It’s almost like you have them alive again for a moment.' Picture: Larry Cummins

I suppose I just never thought… and even 10 years ago we didn’t have good phone cameras like now. We’d have been slow to take pictures of day-to-day life or capture video of the ordinary moments.

Since she passed I have yearned for these things. I want to hear her laughing, telling a story, see her mannerisms. I just want to be able to hear her voice again. 

Photos are great for preserving memory and videos preserve feelings. It’s almost like you have them alive again for a moment.

I think the absence of all of that is really what shaped my business, Evergreen by Kellie, which includes wedding content creation. 

It made me realise how much of a person can disappear with time if we don’t intentionally preserve them — not just photographs of how they looked, but the essence of who they were: their voice, mannerisms, expressions, personality, and presence.

Mum is still at the centre. Not in a heavy or sad way, but in a very living way. The way she loved people, the way she noticed small moments, and the way she made everything feel meaningful. 

She didn’t ignore life’s challenges but still chose to notice beauty, people, and meaning in the smallest of moments.

That way of seeing things, and the feeling it left me with, is something that has deeply shaped how I now see and approach everything I create. In many ways, the work I do now feels like the natural merging of who she was, and who she helped me become.

Evergreen by Kellie was born from everything that has shaped me. 

Growing up beside my mum and the wedding world she worked in, my background in journalism and storytelling, and the deep awareness I now carry of how quickly moments become memory and how important it is to intentionally preserve the people and experiences that matter most.

• Through Evergreen, Kellie Brierley-Kind creates emotionally-led, short-form, video storytelling that captures people in real time — not just events, but presence, personality, and connection. This includes wedding content creation and personal storytelling films, designed to preserve people and presence, memories and milestones in a modern and emotionally honest way. Visit evergreenbykellie.com.