“When my mom died, the funeral home suggested we pull together our favorite pictures of her so they could be displayed at the viewing.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “I dug through every album we had. Mom was the amateur photographer of the family. There were hundreds of shots of me, dozens and dozens of my father and me. Christmases, birthdays, first days of school. But nothing of her. “My father and I never thought of picking up the camera and turning it around on her.
