My father's room has lost none of its sense of dark mystery and sanctuary. It still feels to me like a holy place. The curtains are drawn and the bed crisply made with the white counterpane shrouding it like it's something sacred and holy. The dresser and night table appear completely untouched, unaltered. "You know", say I, "I don't even know if anyone slept in here, or spent time anywhere in this house." It appears completely unaltered, completely untouched. I peek into the ensuite bathroom. Everything is flawless. the medicine cabinet is completely empty. "Why don't you guys grab your luggage so you can put it in your rooms now?"
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