One December afternoon Ana and I went to her mother's gravesite to visit at my request. On the way there, Ana joked that she was calling her mother to tell her she was coming. "Mama? Mama? Can you hear me?" She said into her hand, "We are coming to visit OK? I am coming with [Clary]." I smiled as we walked arm in arm.
When we arrived and Ana stepped closer to her mother's grave she began to cry, "Mother I am here." She kept saying, "I am here, mother. I have come." As we leave she laid to small sweet cookies on the gravestone. "These are for my mother," she says, "but the birds will eat them for her."