This is a picture I snapped last week of the old woman who lives next door. She and her son were walking around the dirt lot that used to be her husband's guava orchard (before it became a giant rock-sifting facility and place where trees come to die). The house is quiet now, so I think she may have moved in with one of her children. One of her sons comes by a few times a week to help pick guava, but other than that it's feeling pretty deserted.
I hope I'm not coming across as some kind of stalker here. This has been a fairly public episode of their lives, and I have been intrigued, eager to glean what I can from it. How we handle death reveals so much about our culture as well as who we are as individuals. I find it fascinating.