In the morning, which was pretty late by the time I’d gotten up, Mom was fixing breakfast for me. She had a card table set up in the living room so we wouldn’t disturb the photo piles.

“Good morning, sleepy head!” she said as I yawned down to my toes.

“Mmm. That smells good,” I said. “I love the smell of toast. Oh good, looks like I get your scrambled eggs and potatoes too.” She had refrained from cooking bacon or sausages becaus...