"Overlooked" is the topic for Week 4 of 2025's 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks Challenge.
Family photos are wonderful inspirations for stories, but even if you’ve studied the same photo a million times, little details can be overlooked. Take, for example, this photo of my grandfather Phil and his mother Bernadette taken in 1944 when Phil was on leave from the Army. It’s one of my favorites. Bernadette’s face radiates love for her son mingled with relief that he’s home, but behind her eyes lurks sadness and fear that she’ll soon have to let her baby go and may never see him again. I’ve gazed at this picture dozens of times and shared it in other posts and stories, so I was surprised to discover I missed something.
Lately I’ve been busy working on an ancestor hallway full of keepsakes and pictures. The plan has been in my head for ten years, but instead of talking and thinking about it for another ten, I got up off my butt and I’m actively working on it. My craft room floor is currently littered with frames, scrapbooks, and photos. Mom is usually my biggest project enabler, and my ancestor hallway is no exception. From scouring Goodwill for frames, to unearthing boxes of stuff she had tucked away from my grandparents’ house, she’s helping to bring this project to life. The other day she called and told me to check my text messages because she found a new treasure. She had forgotten she had this heart-shaped pin Phil gave to Bernadette. In his blocky handwriting he labeled the cardstock attached to it, “World War II Mother’s Day broch from son or daughter 1944.” Beneath it in cursive he wrote “To Mom, From Phil.” Obviously, I was excited that another heirloom was coming my way, but then I got to thinking. If my child was heading off to war and gifted me a piece of jewelry, I’d wear it. I’d keep that piece imbued with all his love close to my heart and wear it as a talisman for his safe return. 1944 was the same year the picture I looked at so many times was taken. Had I missed it? Was Bernadette wearing this pin?
I pulled up the picture, zoomed in, and there it was—the white heart clear as day against the dark background of her dress. All the times I looked at this picture and noticed the rings on Grampy’s fingers, the pictures and pennants in the background, and the pattern of their wallpaper, and I somehow missed that Bernadette was wearing a pin. Future generations won’t overlook it. This photo will be mounted in a shadowbox frame along with the pin and its cardstock backing and hung in a place of pride in my ancestor hallway.
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