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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

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My grandad, Jim, in his railroad gear. He worked for the Illinois Central and the L & N Railroad.

In 1850 U.S. President Millard Fillmore signed a land grant for the construction of the Illinois Central railroad, making it the first land-grant railroad in the United States.

My grandad was married to my grandmother for 67 years. I was lucky enough to know him for 45 years.

We always watched cartoons together on Saturday mornings. He always loved the Road Runner and Tom and Jerry.

He called me little monster, but I knew I had his heart always.

James Wesley Pate II, 1917-2007. I miss you every day. ~shared by @smarttimages

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This is my Grandfather, Peter Prato, and his best friend, and my father’s Godfather, Leo Taddeo, whom I knew growing up as Uncle Leo.
Williamsport, PA, circa late 1940s.

Uncle Leo passed away a little over a year ago. He ran a restaurant called The Columbia, one of the only places we ate Italian out.

Every time I saw him, he’d shake my hand and kiss me on the cheek and slip me a twenty. It was an insane amount of money for a kid.

After dinner, he’d give me and my sister a single Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.

I would have done anything for these men. They taught me to be decent, and loyal, and not to put up with bullshit. They also taught me the power of bribing children