“But be kind about what you choose to keep.” Noah photographed caterpillars, shoes lined by the front door, the moon through a car window.

Half his pictures were blurry.

The rest were priceless to me.

Robert died the following winter.

After the funeral, Noah carried the camera for weeks without taking a single photograph.

I found him asleep with it under his pillow.

When I asked why, he said, “It has Grandpa’s fingerprints.” I never tried to take it away.

In the courtroom, I explained that history.