📸 The Grandad Who Says Hello: Photography, Grief, and Building a Legacy

The season of remembrance makes me reflect. One single photo of my dad became the bridge between generations, proving that love and family stories never fade.

When the Veil Thins: A Reflection on Remembrance

You know, the last week or so, with Halloween having just passed, really got me thinking. As the kids were going through their candy haul, I found myself reflecting on how all these end-of-year holidays—Halloween, Day of the Dead, All Souls’—are really just about memory.

The kids' simple questions about why we decorate with pumpkins and skeletons sparked one of those amazing, spontaneous chats, the kind that goes way deeper than you expect.I found myself explaining how different cultures celebrate life, death, and remembrance in their own, often beautiful, ways.

We went to a local Day of the Dead event recently. We were surrounded by music, flickering candles, and vibrant marigolds, and I just couldn't help thinking how tied photography is to these moments.What really gets me are the photographs: the beloved faces lovingly placed on theofrenda(altar).Each image seems to whisper, “You existed. You mattered. You are still part of us.”

In Europe, the days around All Saints’ and All Souls’ are our own solemn moments of reflection. In Italy, you’ll often see small photographs placed right on the headstones—gentle portraits that watch over the living, fulfilling the exact same purpose as the Mexicanofrenda.These images are a tradition of connection, a quiet way of saying, “I see you. I remember you.”

The Photograph That Bridged Generations

It's this universal tradition—this human need to keep visual proof—that always brings me back to my own family’s story. Because for me, the power of a photograph isn't theoretical; it’s painfully real.

It's been nine years since my dad passed away, and honestly? The ache of him not being here never really goes away. It hits me sometimes—a tight knot in my chest that just steals my breath when a memory catches me off  guard. My biggest regret, the one that still gets me, is that he never got to meet my kids.

We have a few pictures of him, but there’s one that’s special—the one we chose for his tombstone from our trip to the Dolomites. Now, when we visit his headstone in Sicily, my children—who only know him from that photo printed on a ceramic frame—trace the frame with their small fingers and say,“That’s the grandad who says hello.”

To them, that image isn’t just a picture; it’s a living connection. It’s their way ofknowinghim, of feeling his presence even though they never met. And to me? It’s everything. It is definitive proof that love continues to echo through generations, carried gently in the frame of a single photograph.

That Joyful Snowball Fight in the Dolomites

When I think about the regret—that missing connection with my children—it can be overwhelming.But then I look at his picture, the one we picked for his headstone, and I’m right back there in the Dolomites. We chose this image on purpose because it shows him exactly how we want to remember him: totally happy and full of life.

We were high up, the air so freezing cold it almost hurt, and the wind was just whipping around us.He had just thrown a snowball—I remember the light puff of powder in the air—and his hand was mid-motion, so in the picture, he looks like he's giving a spectacular, joyous wave hello.His laughter—that big, deep, magnificent rumble—was echoing off the cold stone, and his eyes were all crinkled up with that pure, deep-down joy.

I caught it all. That raw, perfect moment of connection. That single image now rests on his headstone in Sicily, part of the tradition in Italy that keeps our loved ones close. To my children, that photograph isn't about the snowball fight; it’s the Nonno who says hello, and they make sure to say hello right back every time we visit.

Photography as the Language of Legacy

This is why I genuinely believe photography is so much more than just taking nice pictures. It’s a bridge—between generations, between love and loss, between what was and what still remains.A photograph carries stories, emotions, and memories. it allows us to keep our loved ones alive in the eyes of our children, making sure their family history isn't just abstract, but visible.

I shared my deepest regret with you. And I know you might worry about those same memories fading.That's exactly why I started Mums Photo Academy.

I don't just teach you the settings; I teach you how to use your camera to speak the powerful, therapeutic language of emotion.I want to empower you to be the hero of your family's story, to safeguard your legacy. You deserve to capture moments that tell your family's real, raw, and beautiful story, so one day, these images become more than memories; they’ll be proof of love that never fades.

Don’t let another precious memory slip away.

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Rosie