When a Life Begins and Another Fades: Why Photos Matter More Than Ever

I just experienced the joy of my daughter having her first child.
He's so new, so tiny, so perfect—and already deeply loved.

Then I witnessed the tender moment when my 85-year-old mother cradled her great-grandson for the first time. His eyes are just beginning to track light, movement, and wonder. One life is just beginning. The other is slowly winding down. And I find myself in the middle—holding both beauty and heartbreak in my hands.

Heartbreak comes when I see my mom slipping away—her steps too unsure to walk alone, her words often tangled, her memories fading.

She, who was once my steady hand and sharp mind, now needs help with the simplest things: eating, dressing, remembering which room she’s in. This world will soon be in the past.

And my grandson?
He’s learning to smile. Discovering his parents’ faces. Taking in the world like it’s all brand new—because for him, it is.

In both of them, I see the same thing:
Vulnerability. Innocence. A raw, unfiltered kind of humanity that only lives at life’s bookends.

These moments are fleeting and fragile and only remembered with intentional photographs.

There is something timeless about a printed portrait.
A black-and-white image of a great-grandmother’s hand gently wrapped around her great-grandson’s.

That’s not just a picture.
That’s a story. That’s history. That’s a piece of the heart, frozen in time.

Because memories fade—just like my mother’s mind.
But the art that captures those memories?
That stays.

So please—get meaningful portraits taken. Print them. Frame them. Hang them.
Make them heirlooms.

Let them be the stories your family tells long after you're gone.

We can’t stop time.
But we can freeze it—one meaningful photo at a time.