I was beside my Dad when he died. Nothing really magical about, his health was failing, and the hospice nurse had given him a shot before I got there - so he was "resting" when I arrived. I hadn't seen him in a couple days prior - and I would have liked to tell him I loved him right before he died - but I said it to him often - in my case, I always thought my Dad was special (even when I thought he was an asshole, he was MY asshole).
So, I sat there that night. Not saying anything, just watching him - he looked at least 20 years older to me that night - an old Man, wasted away. Every once in a while, I would reach out and grab his hand and just look at him - of course, his hands were colder as his life slipped away.
He finally quit breathing about 3am - I had fallen asleep and my Mom woke me up to tell me he was gone. I sat there a few more minutes, squeezed his hand, kissed him on the forehead, told him I loved him and that I'd miss him. Then I left the room and cried. It was for the fact that he was gone, that we hadn't done this or that, that my sons wouldn't really get to know him, that there was no way to fill the space he left in the world - he was that big.
And as Forrest Gump said "that's all I've got to say about that"
Eyes front Gentlemen. Live, Learn, Lead.