When Memories Matter Most:
The Story Behind The Memory Maid

This is one of our family’s most treasured photos: my husband, just a few hours old, cradled in the arms of his grandfather. Grandpa (along with Grandma) had traveled by plane, bus, and taxi, across a state and a half to await meeting him the day he was born — no hesitation, no delay, just pure love pulling them across the miles.

I look at that photo and my heart swells. I'm so, so grateful it exists.
That single moment — captured forever — means the world to us now.

You see, my husband's grandpa wasn’t just any man. He was one of the deeply important figures who helped shape my husband into the darn-near-perfect human I married.  I may have only known him a short time, but I loved him deeply: for what I knew of him, for what he meant to the whole family, and most of all, for what he meant to my husband.

A few months ago, we lost Grandpa.
Even though we all knew it was coming — the slow slipping away that sometimes happens with age — somehow, it still knocked the wind out of us all.

You're never ready.
Not really.

Not when it’s someone who held your whole family together with laughter, stubbornness, and a heart that made you feel at home the second you met him.

In the days leading up to his funeral, we found ourselves trekking back and forth through the snow between our house and my mother-in-law’s, grazing on a huge spread of food delivered by loved ones, and sorting through old photos to gather the best ones for the funeral home. My in-laws’ gameroom was transformed into a makeshift photo headquarters — folding tables completely covered with stacks and stacks of old pictures that had been tucked away under Grandma & Grandpa’s basement steps. There was no organization to them... just decades of life, piled high, telling the story of two lives well-lived.

In the middle of all that sorting, I stumbled on a picture that hit me hard in the feels.
It was Grandpa and Grandma, in their younger days, tangled up on the floor in a game of Twister. Tears filled my eyes instantly. 

They weren’t just "Grandpa and Grandma."

They were two young people, building a life together, sharing a million moments, the tiny ones and the huge ones, across nearly sixty years of marriage.

And I realized — that’s what my husband and I are doing right now.

Moment by moment, laugh by laugh, hug by hug, ordinary Tuesday by ordinary Tuesday (and it seems like it’s always Tuesday, trash day comes around quickly, amIright?)... we’re building our lifetime, too.
I cried, right there at the folding table, holding a worn 5x7 print in my hands.

Grateful.
Overwhelmed.
Awestruck by how precious these memories really are.

During all this, my husband’s aunt — watching the chaos of prints and photo albums spread around the house as we all passed photos to one another to reminisce and enjoy — asked me, "Do you know of anyone who helps organize personal photos?"
And honestly?
I told her no.
I didn’t know anyone who did that.

But that little question stayed tucked in the back of my mind, and a few months later, out of the blue, my photographer bestie sent me a link to a course being offered by another photographer in California. It was all about professional photo organization.

The second I saw it, the gears were turning. I’ve been scaling back on my portrait sessions (having semi-retired from wedding photography already), trying to balance new motherhood and the pull to be home with our son with the passion I have for my career and the memory-keeping industry I’ve loved for the past decade and a half.

After a brief chat with my husband, we both knew this was such a great fit for me in this season of life. I signed up immediately, without hesitation.

And just like that... The Memory Maid was born.

Now, I help families preserve their stories, organize their photo memories, and make sure the laughter, love, and beautiful chaos of their lives can be celebrated for generations to come… Because I know firsthand what it feels like to dig through a lifetime of photos when grief is still raw, and I know how healing it can be when those memories are ready, waiting, and honored the way they deserve to be.

Photos aren’t just pictures.
They're the legacy we leave behind.
They're proof of love — messy, real, imperfect, and beautiful.
They’re proof of life. These moments are what we live for.

And I can’t imagine a more important job than helping families protect that.

Thank you for letting me share my heart with you today. If you're ready to honor your memories too, I'm always here to help.

xo, Charlene