Fresh flowers. Fresh flowers to go with the rock engraved with their names, the only proof that they ever existed at all. It wasn't much, and it probably wasn't worth shit, but it was all he had to offer.
Every time he visited the grave, the same old chill of guilt crept up his spine. He shouldn't be the one standing here, with air in his lungs and blood pumping through his veins. A shallow grave, unmarked and forgotten is what he deserved, and yet he was still graced with life. Someone like him who was so horrid and broken, so lost and with so little to offer the dead, let alone the living.
No, he should be the one buried and cold, he should be in their place. His wife and his children who were so full of everything that was right and proper in the world. They'd had so much they could have offered, so many things they could have done with their lives. They didn't deserve such a horrible, grisly end, and especially not one that was his fault. He failed in the worst way he could have, all because he couldn't pull his head out of battle.
He was ashamed.
He was ashamed that they had to bleed to death in his arms for him to finally realize that they were what he wanted, what he needed. It shouldn't have been that way. He shouldn't have needed something so horrific to show him the only good thing in his life. To show him he wasn't deserving of it, and that he couldn't take care of it.
Gloved fingers brushed over her name and he spoke.
"Happy Mother's Day, Maria. I'm sorry."
Fresh flowers and a few words, it was all he could give them now.