Take photos of daily life. I’m stunned by the pictures my father didn’t take. There isn’t a single photo that represents what my parents did for a living. They weren’t the type to attend company picnics, fine. But I found nothing indicating “take your daughter to work” or “Mom typing up a report” or “the building I worked in” or “the woman Mom commuted to work with for 10 years.” That would be more understandable if my parents disliked their jobs, but both of them were passionate about their careers.

Take photos of people at rest. Even though I spent much of my childhood writing letters, there is only one photo of me with a pen in my hand — and that was taken by a friend at summer camp. Yet my friends and family all recall me with a book or pen within reach. My father never captured that essential part of who I was.