The Gift of a Portrait (originally published in 2011 and updated in 2025)
I still remember accompanying my mother and grandmother to a portrait studio on Staten Island in the 1980s. We weren’t there for a new session, but to restore a portrait of my grandmother taken in the 1920s. I was about nine years old at the time, and I didn’t fully understand why this photograph meant so much to her. But I remember the way her voice softened as she pieced the cracked image back together and how carefully she held it, how deeply she cared.
My grandmother was born in 1914 and raised in Brooklyn, the oldest girl in a family of nine children. When she was about eight years old, she received her First Holy Communion. Her parents didn’t have much, but they made sure she had a beautiful dress for the occasion. Her father was so moved by how lovely she looked that he insisted on taking her to a local photographer to preserve the moment. I can almost hear my great-grandmother’s Irish brogue protesting that they couldn’t afford it, but he wouldn’t budge. I think part of why my grandmother loved the photograph so much is simply because she remembers her father telling her how beautiful she looked, and she felt so loved by her parents..
Decades later, as the studio offered to colorize the image, my grandmother tried to recall the exact shades of the flowers and details in the portrait. My mother kept remarking how much I resembled her at that age. We spent a long time choosing colors, and when the restoration was complete, my grandmother proudly hung the portrait in her home. It was a gift from her parents that still stirred emotion more than 70 years later.
When she moved in with my parents in 1994, the portrait came with her. And even though she passed away more than two decades ago, it still hangs on the wall in my parents’ home — a quiet reminder of love, legacy, and the power of being seen.
I doubt my great-grandfather could have imagined the ripple effect of that one decision to take his little girl to a photographer on her Communion Day. That image has now been seen by four generations, and someday, I hope it will hang in my own home too.
Have you ever seen a 100-year-old portrait? Have you ever imagined that the photographs you create today could be cherished by your grandchildren — or even your great-grandchildren?
If you’ve ever hesitated to book a portrait session, wondering if it’s really worth it, think of this story. These photographs aren’t just for you. They’re for your children, to show them how deeply they’re loved, how happy you are together, and how beautiful this season of life truly is. And one day, they’ll share those images with their own children, passing down not just faces, but feelings.
Thanks to my great-grandfather, we all get to see how radiant my grandmother looked in her Communion dress — and how deeply she was loved.
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