My father pulled his new car into the garage and immediately pointed out the new lights. Once we got inside, he showed me where he had shelving built into the closet in the office, after the old shelf fell down. But other than that, the house seems the same as she left it -- the same furniture she picked out, the same art on the walls, the same piles of things that she never got around to.
It breaks my heart to be here. So I can understand why he keeps talking about selling the house. It's like being in a museum.