A response to this tumblr prompt - au where robin and regina meet bc their children have side by side plots in a cemetery
Trigger warning - child loss, grieving. I know this is a sensitive subject for some people understandably, but I tried to do it justice. Warning-this is sad.
A Flower For Roland
It has been three years. Three years without him. Three years grieving her child, her boy, Henry. She comes here every day, has never missed a single one, used to come twice or more sometimes, special days; his birthday, Christmas, the anniversary of his death. Over one thousand days, one thousand days without holding him in her arms, hearing his little voice, brushing the hair from his eyes.
She always brings him a daisy, different colors sometimes, but mostly white. He always loved daisies, said they reminded him of sunshine, the sun, something that definitely does not burn as brightly without Henry. Even the warmth and light cast from the sky seems to grieve her boy.
It was two years ago the plot beside Henry's was filled. The fresh green sod and dirt torn away, dug up, removed and replaced. Now there is another child beside him, and Regina finds herself wondering at times why she finds it oddly comforting that Henry is not so alone anymore. She feels guilty for the thought, realization that someone else lost their child, and she hates that she can find any solace in such a travesty.
The headstone reads Roland, he was only five, and Regina always sheds a tear or two for that boy, for his family, when she is shedding her tears for Henry. She does not see anyone visit the other boy's grave. Finds it devoid of flowers or offerings everytime she comes to see Henry, so one day, as she picks up a daisy for Henry, she buys a second, a flower for Roland.
Although she does not see a visitor, she knows someone comes to visit the boy's grave. After a year, the path she walks to Henry's headstone is worn down from lush grass to sparse blades growing through the dirt, and Roland's beside Henry's is the same, nearly no grass remaining in front of the headstone, where she has never set foot, only leaned over to place the daisy she now brings daily, daily for the last two years.
He watches from the distance for the first 2 weeks. Cannot bring himself closer to the grave of his son, the loss still too substantial, too overwhelming, and he does not trust that he will not collapse and never leave his son's grave if he gets any closer. He hates himself, hates that he can't visit Roland, can't bring him flowers or talk to him, the guilt and anger he feels conflicting with the sadness and despair.
Robin finds that he takes comfort in the presence of a dark haired woman, visiting the grave next to Roland's. She is there everyday, just as he is, only she does not fear standing at the headstone of her loved one, does not fear kneeling and crying there. He wishes it was not so comforting to watch her, wishes he did not find solace in her pain, her loss, but knowing that someone is near Roland, even if not specifically for his son, something about that gives him relief.
A month passes before he can bring himself closer. Robin slowly steps through the cemetery. He never would have thought a cemetery would become like a second home, but it has, in fact, sometimes he finds he spends more time here than his apartment. He is here early today, a fine mist hanging in the air, the sun not yet warming the dreary atmosphere. It is fitting, the gloom perfectly accompanies his mind.
Finally standing in front of the grave, standing before his son's name etched in stone, he lets the tears fall, allows the sobs to rack his body, and when it is finally over, when he has cried until no more tears come, it is then that he spots a white daisy placed carefully against the stone of Roland's headstone. An identical daisy meets the corner of his eye, a daisy for another lost child, a boy named Henry.
He never again watches from the distance. He finds himself wearing a path down in the soft green grass beside his son's grave, kneels there for hours sometimes, but does not see the woman who brings flowers for his son. He arrives early in the morning, still preferring the gloomy atmosphere to feeling the sun shine when it no longer shines in his eyes, and each day he returns, he always finds himself glancing toward the grave beside Roland's, feeling sympathy for the woman who lost her ten year old boy, and then feeling sorrow that he will never see a ten year old Roland.
It has been two years since he lost Roland. A bright Sunday morning, and today he is late, the sun high in the sky casting shadows and warming his flesh. Today is the anniversary of his son's death, and it is as hard for him today as it was a year ago. Regardless of what people say, he is not sure that time heals all wounds.
She is still counting the days, still keeps a tally of the moments she no longer has to enjoy, and she thinks it probably is not healthy, the way she is grieving, but she can't bring herself to care. The sun beats down brightly today, Sunday, she loved spending Sundays with Henry, making pancakes, exchanging smiles and laughter.
He is walking to the cemetery, steps that have become second nature, and today is the first day he notices the floral shop on the corner. He vaguely wonders if it has been there all along, wonders if he is only now seeing colors again, his life having passed in hues of grey for far too long. Today he will bring flowers, today he will let the colors, the vibrant reds and yellows fill his vision and brighten his son's grave. Today, he will buy two bouquets, multicolored daisies spilling forth, for Roland, and for Henry.
She is having a hard time today. The florist was out of daisies, 'how can they be out of daisies', of all flowers, she wanted to bring her boy a daisy, and today, this is the first day she comes to his grave empty handed. Regina kneels, the familiar spot of dirt and grass molding to her knees perfectly, and she sheds her tears, the tears that always fall, maybe a few extra today over the guilt of not having a flower for her boy, and she also realizes, guilt for not having a flower for Roland.
He walks the usual path, does not have to look down or around because nothing has changed, his feet have this path memorized. As he gets closer, only a few yards away, he finally brings his eyes to Roland's gravesite, finally looks upon the stone he approaches, and today, she is there, the dark haired woman, the woman who has brought Roland a flower every day for the last two years.
She can sense another presence. The silence usually accompanying her visits with Henry being disrupted by soft footfalls on the ground. She does not move, remains quiet, her eyes staring, unseeing, only Henry's name carved in stone visible. That changes suddenly, in an instant, because now she sees more than Henry's name, now she sees colors against the grey stone, vibrant bright hues.
He kneels beside her, and recognizes immediately that she seems aware yet unaware of his presence at the same time. Robin sets the bouquet of daisies just beneath his son's name, a feeling of contentment filling his heart for a moment, temporary elation at having been the one to bring flowers to his son's grave. Then he turns, really looks at the woman before him, completely oblivious to his scrutiny. She is beautiful, the tear stained cheeks, the emotion in her eyes only making her more radiant, more human, and he slowly lowers the flowers for Henry in her eyeline, slowly places them below the boy's name.
She takes in the image, the way the bright petals bend in the breeze, how the sun filters through the trees above her only making the colors more spectacular. Regina finally pulls herself from the haze, moves her gaze from the flowers, to the hand that just placed them in front of her, and finally to the face of a man, a man with sympathetic eyes, and a knowing smile, a kind smile, a smile she can't help but return.
Please take a minute to review and I hope no one was offended.