Awaiting word

It's a strange place to be, waiting for news of someone's death. But here I sit, checking the computer compulsively about our friend L. He could die at any time and may have already; I just don't know. I do know that his wife and children are very special people, and I've no doubt they are sending him on his way in good fashion. Perhaps they are singing to him, or reading. I hope the dogs are licking his hands or feet.
L. survived more than a week (and counting) from the docs' prognosis. Three weeks ago, they said he had two weeks. But I chalk that up, in part, to our patient's good health outside of his brain tumor, and his fighting will.
As somewhat of an outsider (though L's wife is my cousin), it's been sort of a daily puzzle of what to do, what to say. When I feel powerless, as I do now, I ask myself what I can do; and that has meant pretty constant phone calls, e-mails and cards. Mainly I tell them of my love and care and prayers. The last I went out to the house was about a week and a half ago. After that, I'd have felt like a voyeur.
L's children are two girls, ages 7 and 12. My heart breaks for them especially. They are beautiful and smart and winsome. They are able to ask the "Why?" questions many of us adults would ask out loud, if (speaking only for myself) we weren't so concerned others would deem us weak in faith.