My head spun.

The boys, who had been crying, went quiet in a way that frightened me more than the crying had.

So I did the only thing left to me: I talked to them.

I sang their favorite songs in a cracked whisper.

I stroked their hair in the dark.

I made them match my slow breathing, in and out, keeping their small chests moving, keeping them here, keeping them mine, refusing to let the dark have them.

I do not remember all of what I said down there, in that last hour before the shovels.