"Do you think they can hear us?" asked the young boy in heavily accented English. He looked up at Lily from the fresh grave he was kneeling in front of. A small scattering of flowers surrounded the boy, who was only seven or eight. Tear tracks glistened from his large liquid brown eyes down his cheeks.
Slowly Lily knelt beside him, gently moving a flower upright against the stone.
"I think that as long as you remember them, and you love them, they can hear you wherever you or they go."
The boy observed her with a sad expression. He looked back at the stone and tenderly ran his fingers over the grooves that marked the final resting place of his big sister.
"Camilo!" called an elderly woman from a distance. The boy reluctantly turned his head towards the sound.
"Don't worry," said Lily gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You can come back and visit her here any time you want. And when you're not here, all you need to do is think of her and you can feel like she is right beside you. Trust me."
He smiled tearfully at her before jumping up and running back to his grandmother.