I held your hand throughout.  I wanted to climb into your bed and hold you.  I needed you to know that you were not alone, to not be frightened.  I am here Mum.  This was your time.  A lone tear, leaving the corner of your eye, stopping in the hollow.  Even in the end, your beauty, so delicate, was poetic.  'I don't think Mum's breathing anymore.'  Then that was it, all over.  No more suffering.  No more pain.  Finished.  Gone.  Except for me Mum, it isn't.  This gaping hole that just won't close and these tears that just won't stop.