The room was stifling as only the rooms of the dying are. Unable to keep himself warm, as his body broke down, the central heating was ratcheted up. The lights were dimmed as though he were sleeping peacefully, as opposed to someone who had headed into a losing battle and had been struck with a mortal wound now struggling to live. I sat by his bed watching every rasping breath hoping it would be the last, but really I knew he still had a way to go yet, no matter how much I wished for his pain to end. Three to six months a doctor had given him nearly three months ago to the day. We only heard six months and expected another Christmas together. A sense of being cheated had pervaded through the house in the past weeks. His three month sentence drawing quickly to a close.

So on and on with the rasping, in and out of air, each a struggle to comprehend, as we continued our vigil. Not letting him be alone as his final hour drew every closer and he quickly drifted away from us. Just the day before he had seemed to wake up a bit and even eaten, but that was a good last meal. His consciousness drifting already. The others had now given themselves the permission of a reprieve to cook themselves a meal and have a break. Leaving just him and me together. Never a comfortable situation even when he was very much alive and well.

The dimness and heat of the room bought me to that strange never-land in-between awake and asleep. It was then I became aware of them. As well as the hushed noises coming from the kitchen downstairs, I heard Them gathering on the other side. Somber men in dark, heavy woollen over-coats suitable for the cold, damp November evening. Shaking hands in greeting, introductions being made, they were quiet, respectful and formal. Brothers, uncles, fathers, friends. All male I noticed. The only woman he ever loved, liked even, was downstairs cooking, fearful for her lonely future. Understanding she was being left behind and not understanding it. A man’s man, not in the macho sense of the word just one who really never understood women. Couldn’t understand the flightiness of his granddaughter; or the ever changing moods of his daughter-in-law; nor the choices of his sisters. Comfortable really only with his wife and son. They had been his world and the world he was now leaving.

And they stayed gathered, as we were, in a quiet vigil, holding their own. Waiting for their brother to join them finally. Ready to greet rather than bid farewell, comfort, explain his new reality, smooth his transition. I heard their whispers, realising there was still some hours to go before the inevitable happened; their quiet catching up on news between each other, biding time, rubbing cold hands against the cold night.

And so we all waited.