I’ll never forget stepping into my grandpa’s office and seeing the photos he had carefully pinned along the side of his bookshelf. A living collage of my family’s story. There were images of my mom as a child, wild and sunlit on the beaches of Corsica, and later as a young woman exploring the world and meeting my father. Then came the snapshots of me and my brother: chubby legs, gap-toothed grins, funky ’90s sweaters. Each photograph offered a glimpse into a world that existed before I could remember it, shaping my understanding of who we are as a family.

That’s the gift of photography - not just preserving our own memories, but passing them forward. They remind us that even the smallest ordinary moments matter, that life as it is now is a miracle worth remembering, and that we are all part of a story far bigger than the one we see in the mirror today.