About Jeff

When I was six, my grandmother died at my feet. I didn't understand death yet, but I understood, suddenly and completely, that I didn't want to lose anything else about her. I started collecting her birthday cards, holiday cards — anything with her handwriting on it. I didn't know it then, but I'd just started my life's work.

That instinct — hold onto what matters before it's gone — became a career: preserving family history through photo scanning, slide and VHS digitizing, and custom memory books. Then a few years ago, I spent 10 days on life support. I came back changed. Time stopped feeling infinite. The shoebox of photos in someone's attic, the box of home videos decaying in a basement — none of that felt like "someday" work anymore. It felt urgent.

That urgency is why I do this work the way I do — and why I now also work alongside the Geriatric Advisory Council, helping families organize not just memories but the practical parts of a legacy: documents, technology, the things people mean to get to and don't.

I don't do small talk well anymore, and I've stopped apologizing for it. But if you want to talk about the people and moments you don't want to lose — I'm all ears, for as long as it takes.