It all started years ago with the death of my grandmother, when my mother and I found boxes of photos and albums in her closet. I saw a totally different side of my grandmother, a side that I never knew. In many of the pictures I saw myself in her-- holding cookouts with friends and family, cooking, gardening, sewing--but although I discovered pictures, I found no words to tell me what she was thinking at the time, no accounting of feelings or thoughts, just tons of pictures.

My grandfather had a dark room in the basement, and as a little girl I remember watching him perform his ‘magic’ by making a picture appear on the paper. I remember the care my grandmother took in hand-coloring and tinting the photos; I remember being in awe of her talent. I remember her carefully laying out each photo set in a hardbound leather book of black paper and using a white pen to mark the dates or names, and I loved going through these books over and over, reliving our family’s good times and gatherings. Too bad, I thought then, as I looked through them, that she didn’t write the stories behind the photos. I remembered the many stories they told me.  I felt an almost obsessive need to write down what I could remember today and started to journal furiously.

I also found a family heritage album, but most pictures had no names and dates. The pictures in these albums had grown worn and the ink had begun to bleed on some areas. What had been written in pencil was barely legible. The faces in the photos were eerily familiar; I could see my own portrait in a distant relative’s face--the same eyes, nose, smile. I wondered who this woman was, she who was literally almost a twin of me but from a hundred years earlier?   .

And so began my quest to create a heritage album so that I could know where I came from, how I got here, and who the people were that helped mold me into the person I am today. My mother and I carefully scanned all the photos to preserve them before it was too late. I started to teach myself digital graphics in an old version of Paint Shop in a feeble attempt to restore the beauty of the old pictures.

My mother and I asked every surviving family member we could to tell us anything about the people, who was who and what was happening. We had ship receipts and passes from America to the old country back in Europe. We had Ellis Island records of when our family first came to America. We had elementary pictures of our grandparents from a school during the war. We had it all in photos. But we had nothing in words.

Over the past eight years, we have managed to put together many pieces of our family heritage puzzle, not the passion and not the stories from their hearts, but at least some of the who’s and when’s.

I decided that I was not going to let this happen to my children or grandchildren. I want my children and grandchildren to know the stories behind the pictures. I want them to know how proud I was of them. I want them to know about the love we shared between us and the trials and tribulations we faced. I want them to know their heritage, the family recipes, the accomplishments, the lessons.

This is why I scrapbook today. To record the stories behind the scenes. To preserve not just the pictures of Christmas but also the everyday blessings we are thankful for. Not just the picture of a child standing on a mountainside, but the accomplishment of climbing it and the fun time we shared hiking together. Not just the picture of me, their mother, riding a motorcycle (and looking like some hellion), but the stories that tell of the love of my brothers and my extended family, and how we would protect and would die for each other.

I want to share with them the pride I felt on the day I taught my daughters and granddaughter to sew, as I watched their eyes light up with the joy of creating their own masterpiece in fabric. I want to share with them the words spoken along with the secret thoughts inside. Why? So they remember… and know they are loved. So that one day when I am gone, they will remember the joys we had and will know that even though life had its ups and downs, we remained together and there was nothing we couldn’t overcome or conquer as a family. So that they too can draw upon the magic of family and love to overcome their own trials, and know about the celebrations to be had after.

This is why I scrapbook. To preserve our legacy. To preserve our family. To preserve our stories of passion, life and love.