Her father, Otto Frank, was the only one of the people in the annex to survive WWII and was completely responsible for the publication of Anne's diary, the establishment of the museum, and the dramatization of their story on both stage and screen. He decided that the rooms of the attic annex where they had stayed should remain empty to symbolize the desolation of the Holocaust, but agreed to help make miniature models of what the rooms had looked like while they lived there. He was a really remarkable man. He had every right to be completely defeated, but he continued the fight to share Anne's story. That said, he was integral in the creation of the script for the play about his family, but politely declined to see it because it was too upsetting to see himself and his family replicated in that way. The museum was incredibly moving and told a lot of stories that I had forgotten or had never heard, like Anne finding her best friend from home in the camps and their brief but meaningful interactions there. If you get a chance to go there, GO.
After the museum, we wandered around for a while until we found somewhere for dinner. We thought we found a great deal on Japanese food, but we had really found a great ripoff. They were weird and refused to provide free tap water (rolls eyes at stingy Europeans). We satisfied ourselves with a couple of small dishes and made up for it by buying a couple chocolate bars from the grocery store - as you do. We got back to the hotel, showered, and got into our pajamas, but ended up switching rooms. You might begin to see a trend... Anyhow, we switched rooms, FaceTimed with Dad, and went to bed.
Mom and I got to go to the airport together, though my plane was leaving earlier. Schipol Airport was really interesting because they had basic security to get through to the gates, but the bulk of the security happened at each terminal. Sometimes it was gate specific. Anyhow, Mom and I sped through the airport to my gate. We hugged goodbye, I went through security, and expected to see her in a month and a half. THEN, I realized I was at the wrong gate! 15 minutes before my plane was to board. It had easily taken us 15 minutes to get to the end of this concourse, and I was terrified I was going to miss my flight. The security officers had to call someone to figure out where my gate was, and I took off running, backpack flopping. As I was sprinting clumsily down the concourse, I heard my mom! She had stopped off to look in a shop and joined me in my quest for my real gate. We repeated our goodbyes, and I made it back to London just fine.
Unfortunately, Mom's trip home was quite a bit more complicated. Her flight was delayed and then cancelled. The airline put her up in a hotel for a night and she eventually got home the next day after a long list of annoying complications with hotel and flights. All is well that ends well.