How A Photograph Can Create A Legacy Story…

How A Photograph Can Create A Legacy Story…

Have you ever discovered an old ancestor’s photograph and wondered — what was that person thinking about?

What was their life like? How did they overcome obstacles?

After unpacking and repacking boxes for our upcoming move, my husband and I came across a number of photographs and an old suffragette card from his grandmother Fanny. 

Wow!  I was so impressed — Fanny was a suffragette!  I never knew that.  As I curiously perused photographs that I had never seen before, I thought it would be fun to experiment on a story — and partner with my AI friend, Chat GPT.   

Together, we wrote this imaginary letter, based on facts, that Fanny really could have written to her sister, Bessie. 

An Imagined Legacy Story In A Letter
(From Fanny (Schaefer) Schwarzbach to Her Sister Bessie)

Black and white vintage photo of a smiling woman in a white dress standing outdoors under a large tree, reflecting confidence and warmth for personal growth and transformation.
Older woman smiling outdoors.

My Dearest Bessie,

I hope this letter finds you in one of your better moods, perhaps perched near a window with a cigarette in hand, watching the world go by. 

I always admired your independence — even if Papa didn’t approve of your beau.  I still feel heartbroken that he was killed in that carriage accident.

Truth is, we both lived with more fire in our hearts than many knew what to do with.

I’m writing today not because I’m lonely — though I won’t pretend the nights aren’t long — but because I needed to put these words somewhere. Somewhere safe. Somewhere real.

Raising Harlan and Jerry alone after Louis left hasn’t been easy.

The decision to get a divorce was a hard one. Louis enjoyed traveling out of town as a salesman for a sewing machine company.  I didn’t like having him gone so often.  

We felt it was best if he went on his own.  I didn’t know he’d choose to move to California. 

While Louis keeps in touch with the boys from time to time, I know I’ve got to be strong inside myself.

Bessie, I don’t like the feeling of being divorced.  Hardly anyone around here is divorced, and I think it’s hard for our boys.  I’m doing the best I can, and I think I’ve been learning a lot.

What I’ve Learned As A Single Mother

You know what, Bessie? I’m not letting the status of “single” stop me. I’m telling myself that I can do it… and I do.

The boys need more than food and clothes — they need strength. Steadiness. Someone who believes in their future when their own father is gone.

Do you remember that card I kept from the Woman Suffragette Meeting in Omaha, Nebraska?

Up with the Petticoats and Down with the Pants!” I can still hear the howls of applause. We meant every word.

And I’ve lived those words every day since — speaking up, showing up, and making sure my voice — and our voices — are never silenced again.

Even now, I find myself surrounded by good women. Strong women. Some widowed, some divorced like me — all of us bound by resilience. And yes, a few kind gentlemen have come calling.

I’ve learned that love doesn’t need a license to matter. And dignity isn’t given — it’s claimed.

We’ve been underestimated all our lives, Bessie. Yet we keep going. You with your books and students. Me with my babies and ballots. Maybe we didn’t get the lives we thought we’d have… but perhaps we’re living the ones history will remember.

So let the men scoff. Let them mock our petticoats or deny our place.

One day, stories like ours will be told — perhaps even from an old photograph, held by a granddaughter or great-niece, who sees not just our faces but our fight.

Write back soon. Or at least send a photo of those nieces of yours who always brighten up the house when you visit. And if you come by this fall — I’ll make your favorite appie pie and cookies. 

And we’ll laugh like we used to.

With love always,
Fanny

P.S.  Even though I’m keeping my married name, I’ll always stay a Schaefer at heart…

🌿 Reflection

P.S.  This fictional letter is inspired by real vintage photos and artifacts passed down through generations.

Fanny Schaefer Schwarzbach, a woman I never met, left behind more than just images. She left behind courage. Resolve. And proof that our stories can live on — even when we’re gone.

📸 What stories live inside your family photos?

💬Have you ever imagined the life behind the smile? The silence?  

Let’s preserve those legacies — one story at a time.

P.P.S. Ready to bring more of your stories into the world?  Feel free to schedule a complimentary story strategy session at: https://calendly.com/lynnsanders

True Story:  The Power of Words On A Blue Ribbon

True Story: The Power of Words On A Blue Ribbon

My dad’s health was declining, and I knew I needed to visit him in Florida while I could.

When I got to his condo, I noticed my brother and his wife, sitting nearby.  I approached them with my blue “Who I Am Makes A DIfference” blue ribbon,  and they shooed me off. They didn’t feel comfortable.  Especially because it seemed silly, inconsequential, unnecessary.

Everyone was in such a somber mood.  My dad wasn’t talking anymore.. He just responded to questions with a “yes” or “no.”  I wanted to get the group smiling.  I keep a stack of blue ribbons in my purse to lighten people’s spirits, and I definintely wanted to use them with their permission.

I turned to the caregiver, hovering beside my dad.  She allowed me to honor her with this ribbon, a globally recognized tool to unite humanity through the power of love.  She listened to me, as I acknowledged her kindness, compassion and dedication to my dad.  I spoke freely from my heart, and her eyes brimmed with tears.

“You’re going to meke me cry,” she said.   I smiled as I placed the ribbon above her heart.

I then turned to my dad’s wife, Hana, who had been my dad’s loving companion ever since my mom passed away so suddenly.  Hana’s smile was so bright as I honored her.  As I placed the ribbon over her heart, she exclaimed, “You made my day!”

Then it was time to honor my dad.  I leaned close to him in his wheelchair, and showed him the blue ribbon.  His eyes followed me intently.

“I have a gift for you,” I said.  “It’s a blue ribbon that says, “Who I Am Makes A Difference.”  Then I started reflecting about why he meant so much to me.

In my mind, I was remembering the year after my mom passed, and my dad had gone mentally off-balance.  His anger was at himself, but he couldn’t face those recriminations, so my husband and I became scapegoats.  Dad and I didn’t speak for at least a year.  Forgiveness took time.  Yet the sadness remained etched into his face.  Hana had been a blessing to ease his pain.  I didn’t want to dwell on those unhappy times.

So I focused on the good he did for me:  supporting our family, caring for me as I grew up, taking me to Riverview when I was small. I asked if he’d accept my gift, and he nodded “yes.”  He heard every word.

“May I have permission to place it on you?”  He nodded “yes” again.

We both knew that love was the most important thing to remember.  As I gently secured the ribbon over his heart, a small tear fell from his eye, sliding down his cheek.  Everything was still.  Dad motioned with his hand, beckoning me to move even closer.

With a great deal of effort, he spoke in a raspy, whispery, slow voice – “May I – kiss your – cheek?”

“Of course,” I answered softly.  Dad’s head leaned towards me.  In that instant of his kiss on my cheek, I was thinking – this might be the last time I ever see my dad again.  A wave of sadness swept over me.

Yet in almost the same instant, another thought arose.  If that’s the case, I’ll be glad that I have this memory – of honoring dad.

I then kissed dad’s cheek too.  For a minute, we were swept up in a timeless love.  No words needed to be spoken. I mentally took a picture of that moment, savoring the sweetness of just us together.

Over the year, my dad’s health worsened.  Before I could catch a flight out to Florida, he passed away… alone in the hospital due to Covid.  My brother Mark was able to sneak into his room just once, to see him for a few minutes.  By that time, my dad was mainly unconscious.

In that final week, I was so sad that I didn’t get to see dad again.  I felt some consolation in knowing that at least we shared a precious memory. That moment of us wrapped in a cocoon of memories filled with love.  I’ll never forget it.

“Who I Am Makes A Difference” Blue Ribbons have touched over 50 million people worldwide in 12 languages, and the mission is to reach one billion people.  Most people are never honored for simply being who they are.  It takes just a minute to honor someone and uplift their life.  The ribbon has even saved lives.

It certainly made a difference for my dad and me.  A final tribute to my his life.  And my acknowledgement of gratitude.

For those who want to learn more about this amazing empowerment tool, visit:  https://blueribbons.org.  

You may never realize the power of your words… or the power of a “Who I Am Makes A DIfference” blue ribbon unless you go out of your comfort zone, and decide to honor someone.  It can make all the difference in your life.

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