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My friend received a photograph of her son. He looks handsome and distinguished, and although she was delighted to get his picture, she said: "I would rather have him here in person."

Our adult children lead busy lives and forget — or they don't want to think about — that their parents aren't going to live forever. When their parents are gone it will be too late to ask the questions that only their parents can answer.

This thought has bugged me for years.

What comes home to you after your parents die is how much you don't know about their early lives. Something as simple as wishing you had gotten a recipe for a favorite dish your mother made when you were a child. Or, as it was for me the other day, wishing that my mother had put names and dates on the back of her collection of photographs.

Many photos of her childhood with friends and family will remain a mystery forever. I'll never be able to identify these strangers who look out at me from picture albums. My children and grandchildren will not learn as much about their heritage, because they can only hear from me about their childhoods. But her photos could tell a greater story than I'll ever know.

This makes me remember all the pictures I've boxed and put away in the same condition. Shame on me for such folly.

When I do take out some of my photos, I am struck by my lack of memory. I've waited too long to do what I should have done immediately. Now I am puzzled with questions like: Where were we, on what beach, what vacation, what year? The job I set out for myself seems unconquerable so I do what I always do: I put them back in the box, for another day when I have more time.

I imagine that's what my mother did. And then it was too late. We tend to put off so much.

The opportunity for telling family histories while sitting down together around the dinner table has become increasingly difficult. We are a nation of very busy people. Everyone seems to have every minute scheduled — for fear of doing nothing. We have become used to not taking time to reflect on our lives.

I look at my mother's photos: young women dressed as though they were all matrons, although they were probably only 14 at the time. Today's youngsters have no idea what was expected of children in bygone days. A 14-year-old was considered a man or a woman back then. My, how our culture has changed!

Pictures from the past remind us of our mortality. Boxes of photos in my closet tell me of generations past, of my parents and their parents before them.

I look at a photo of my great-grandparents, surrounded by their 12 children, sitting stiff and serious. The cost of such a family photo was great. The importance of the photograph was the message they all portrayed.

Today's digital world can bring photos taken across the country instantly into your computer. Parents and grandparents are inundated with pictures of loved ones. My friends have received photos of their grandchildren minutes after birth. This is wonderful.

But as my friend said: "I'd rather have them here in person." Wouldn't you?