Waiting

What kind of sick twisted writ of passage is this we,
sit
In a room with a man who's breaths are numbered we,
hold ours
every time he draws one in sitting stagnant stalling searching for sentences to say to your supporters who sit in solidarity as your dad
slowly
dies.
Of course this is no surprise
we've,
waited
three long years of suffering and pain
we've
known
It was coming but we've tried to just ignore it
now we sit and ponder our lives just his barely audible snore,
is
making mourning music as we miss the man who meant the most to most of,
us.
Were just sitting in this room and hoping praying selfishly that maybe when he moves it wont be up he wont be gone but rather he will stand and,
say
whats for breakfast folks
I'm hungry anyway.

At 6:15 on Saturday he made his final choice
he said goodbye inaudibly he had not left a voice.
We cried and hugged and sobbed, though his soul it did,
rejoice.

He's finally gone home again
our morbid wait is at an end.