Daisies in hand

I never returned to the cemetery after my wife died. Too much sorrow. I needed to stay strong, for her, for me, for my daughter she gave me before she died. I could never let my little girl see me cry, I couldn't explain to her what happen. Her name was Daisy, named after her mother. Daisy was always so optimistic about everything, nothing bad could ever happen. She got me to believe that, but I don't think I do anymore. Daisy was always happy, I used to be happy, but now I'm only sad. As I sit on a white chair in the first row of many, I fix my black suit and let the tears roll slowly down my face. I sit there, looking at my daughter. I watch her move onto a new stage in her life, daisies in her hands. Everyone else has gone to see her, I guess I should too. I stand up and walk over to her. I touch her cold hands and the tears continue to flow. I never thought this day would come. I take to bouquet of flowers from her so I can hold her hand one last time. "I love you, sweetie." I whisper to her. I can't bear saying anything more so I walk away and sit back in my seat, away from everyone else. When the preacher comes, it's even harder for me, but the hardest part was when she gets picked up and carried away. Without her, my life is incomplete, so I follow her. I started in a brisk walk but couldn't stand being away from her any longer. I sprint to catch up to her, I just need her, but I was too late. As she is taken away from me, she is placed my her mother and covered up. I sink to my knees before them and weep. And there I stay, at the foot of my love's and daughters graves. Now I do not leave the cemetery. I just lay here awaiting the day where the malnutrition or dehydration kicks in and I can join my wife and daughter in a better place. A place where the daisies multiply and I can hug my family in a field of flowers. Until that, I will never leave their side, and I will never drop the daisies in my hand.