We visited Lolo’s grave Friday morning. A year has passed since his death. When we arrived at the cemetery mom said we should pay our respects but I didn’t know what to do. I don’t know if I believe in an afterlife. But I stood at his grave and thought about him for a few minutes: How he picked nails and rubber bands off the street when he walked me home from school, how he always sang old songs to himself, how he would drift off as he and Lola recited their evening prayers. I remember his sense of humor, his mumbling way of speaking English, his square smile. I thought about that as I stood at his grave.