September has always felt a little like a turning point to me. The carefree days of summer begin to give way to familiar routines. Children return to school. Vacations become memories. The evenings get a little shorter. Before long, we’ll be pulling out sweaters and preparing for another season. And somewhere in the midst of all that change, I find myself thinking about something we don’t often think about when we’re busy living our lives: What will the people we love remember about us? I don’t mean the size of our homes, the cars we drove, or the things we accumulated. I mean the stories. Will they remember the way Grandma used to laugh? Will they remember Grandpa’s stories about growing up? Will they know how their parents met? Will they know what their great-grandparents experienced during difficult times? Will they know where their family came from? Will they understand why certain traditions matter so much? Will they know the lessons you learned the hard way? These are the things that make a family history come alive. I’ve always believed that photographs are wonderful. They freeze a moment in time. But a photograph doesn’t tell you what happened five minutes before it was taken. It doesn’t tell you what the people in the photograph were thinking. It doesn’t tell you what they were feeling. And it certainly doesn’t tell you the story behind the smile. That’s where our stories become so important. A few months ago, I wrote about my grandfather and the incredible storyteller he was. As a young boy visiting my grandparents in Renfrew, I was mesmerized by the way people gathered around him, hanging on every word. I didn’t know it then, but those moments would help shape the work I do today. That’s the remarkable thing about stories. We often don’t realize their importance until we’re looking back. A story that seems insignificant today can become priceless tomorrow. The funny family story that everyone has heard a hundred times may someday be the only thing that brings someone’s voice back to life in their memory. The recipe written on an old card becomes more meaningful when someone explains who taught them to make it. The photograph becomes more precious when you know the names, the place, the circumstances, and the story behind it. And the advice that once seemed ordinary can become a guiding principle for a future generation. This is why I believe preserving life stories is about much more than writing. It’s about connection. It’s about identity. It’s about giving future generations a window into the lives of the people who came before them. And perhaps most importantly, it’s about recognizing the value of those experiences while we are still here to share them. I’ve discovered through my work with Precious Words that people often begin the process thinking they are creating something for their children or grandchildren. And they are. But along the way, something unexpected often happens. They rediscover themselves. They remember how much they’ve experienced. They recognize challenges they’ve overcome. They reconnect with people and places that shaped them. They laugh at things they haven’t thought about in decades. Sometimes they shed a few tears. And they begin to see their own life differently. That may be one of the greatest gifts of all. Your story isn’t simply something you leave behind. It’s something you can give while you’re still here. So as September begins and we move into another season, perhaps take a little time to think about the stories that live inside you. Which ones have never been written down? Which stories do your children know only because you’ve told them? Which family memories might disappear if no one captures them? And what would you want the next generation to know about the life you’ve lived? You don’t have to write a book. You don’t have to remember every detail. You simply have to begin. Write down a memory. Record your voice telling a story. Sit with your children or grandchildren and tell them about the world you grew up in. Pull out an old photograph and explain what’s happening beyond the frame. Because one day, those ordinary moments may become extraordinary treasures. And when that day comes, it won’t be the things we owned that matter most. It will be the stories we shared. The lessons we passed along. The laughter we created. The love we gave. And the memories we chose not to let disappear. At Precious Words, I feel incredibly fortunate to help people capture those moments and preserve them for the people who matter most. Because every life has a story. And some stories are simply too precious to be forgotten. want them to carry with them—and why?”