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“Family faces are magic mirrors. Looking at people who belong to us, we see the past, present and future.” -Gail Lumet Buckley

My beautiful mother, Patricia, in 1968. She was just 24, and was photographed by her new beaux, my father, on his flashy Triumph Spitfire in Dublin, Ireland.

I love the sparkle in her eyes; she was so happy and in love.

Later, she mothered three girls, all of whom she was very proud.

Sadly, she passed away suddenly when I was just 30 years old. She was just 63. I thought I was all grown up until I lost her.

Sometimes I catch a fleeting glance of her in the mirror and realize she’s still with me. ~shared by @lostandfoundimages

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Their adventures are your adventures. Their images inspire your imagination.

Here are my grandparents, Joe and Marge Nowaki, at a carnival in 1949, just before they were married.

They had 5 children – 4 girls and 1 boy. Over their lifetimes, they had 13 grandchildren and 20 great-grandchildren.

I remember how much they loved to travel and dance. They were great dancers; Gran loved Elvis especially.

She used to hide candy for us grandchildren to find. And she was an avid traveler her entire life, right up until the end. Even when she had dementia, she thought she was on vacation!

Gran just passed away this month and will be greatly missed. She was the Queen of our family. ~shared by @jesstea1

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These static images have the uncanny ability to jar the memory and bring places and people back to life. They bridge the present with the past. ~Isabel Lopez

This is my beautiful grandmother on Easter Day, 1961. She was only 43 years old when this photo was taken. She didn’t try to hide the gray in her hair; she was a classic beauty.
My grandfather sold Buicks so they always had a new one, just like this.
My memory of my grandmother is that she was an artistic person, very much a creative spirit. In fact, I still have a lot of her paintings hanging in my own house today. ~shared by @threecees704

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We all have tales to tell. The old photos help us remember where to begin.

Here’s my grandmother, Doris Kerscher Mueller, at age 4, with her parents, uncle and aunt in Munich in 1938.

Her parents, Isidor and Dora Kerscher (next to Doris), were originally from small towns in Bavaria, Germany.

They immigrated to the US when they were only 18 years old, and settled in Milwaukee, eventually purchasing a tavern, hall and bowling alley in New Holstein, WI, during Prohibition.

Yesterday was my grandmother Doris’ 80th birthday. Check out that fierce hood!

Happy birthday grandma. Cheers to memories…and the weekend! ~shared by @kellicohen

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Photos are pieces of our past that remind us what matters most in the present.

This is my grandmother, Martha. I love this photo of her, happy and carefree. Growing up, I learned lots of her loves. Those included roller skating and gin rummy.
She would always give my brother and me circus peanuts candy and hotdogs when we visited her.

And of course, she taught me gin rummy!

For the last 5 years of her life, she was in a nursing home and I was in my late teens and early twenties. I was very “busy” with all I thought was important and didn’t visit her as much as I should have.

Once she passed away, I was struck by how “busy” I made myself that often I missed the magnitude of blessings in front of me.
I didn’t take time to listen to her stories enough, or learn more about her life. I wish I had her here with me now, but I do have this photo. It helps hold that lesson out to me, and inspires me to think of my grandmother as I make it a goal to learn more about the loved ones in my life currently. ~shared by @atticseventeen

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“Give me your tired, your poor,
your huddled masses yearning to breathe free; the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden door.” – The New Colossus, Emma Lazarus

Meet my great-grandparents, Franco Scotti and Rosa Porcellana Scotti, two of thousands of Italian immigrants who bravely crossed tempest-tossed seas to build new lives in the US.

We were able to trace them because Rosa, “Granny Rose,” had polio and was labeled “lame” by the immigration officer who catalogued her as she disembarked in New York, on Ellis Island.

I see my eyes in my “Granny Rose’s”
eyes; I sense my sense of adventure in them. I also credit them with my innate love of bold red wines, especially beloved Barolo, which is the town in Piemonte, Northern Italy, near where my great-grandparents were born. ~shared by @rachellacour

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“When you remember me, it means that you have carried something of who I am with you, that I have left some mark of who I am on who you are. It means that you can summon me back to your mind even though countless years and miles may stand between us. It means that if we meet again, you will know me. It means that even after I die, you can still see my face and hear my voice and speak to me in your heart.
For as long as you remember me, I am never entirely lost.” -Frederick Buechner

Pictures help us remember to remember.

My grandma Beth and her mother, Violet, my namesake.

As I’ve seen and heard of the hardships and triumphs they experienced, I know my grandmothers stayed strong to their family and their faith. They are extraordinary women and I always have a piece of them with me, especially as I learn more about their lives.

This is one of my very favorite photos. ~shared by @maddievioleth

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Listen to the photos; they tell us stories.

It’s been two years since my Dad, Max, died. Time flies.

That’s him in the middle, the night before he set sail from Guernsey – an island in the English Channel off the coast of Normandy – to start a new life in Australia.

Sometimes, it’s hard to remember that your parents were once young and on the cusp of adventure.

Follow the river Dad and you will find the sea. ~shared by @janemadge

#savefamilyphotos #wewerehere #familyphotos #familyphoto #ancestry #familyhistory #oldfamilyphotos #foundphotos #pictapgo_app #vintagephotos #filmisnotdead #vintagephoto #oldphoto #oldphotos #ancestors #heritage #familyalbum