When Todd Sacktor was about to turn 3, his 4-year-old sister died of leukemia. “An empty bedroom next to mine. A swing set with two seats instead of one,” he said, recalling the lingering traces of her presence in the house. “There was this missing person — never spoken of — for which I had only one memory.” That memory, faint but enduring, was set in the downstairs den of their home.
Source
