A gentle death (was delivering news), Rev 1

[Achebe]

Hi - i think the poem could do with fewer words in its second draft. 
Overall, I enjoyed reading it. Thanks for posting.

Silent sentries flank the long hall,
faces averted, their disposition clouded. 'faces averted' is a tired expression. 'disposition clouded' is a vague, ineffective one. the first line is enough.
In the middle plays the youngest
of her family, fourth maybe the fifth generation; the uncertainty and '4th / 5th' is unnecessary and uninteresting information.
I am unsure.

They laugh, skip, dance even mere yards who are 'they'? the sentries? aren't they silent? I would delete these two lines altogether
from where she lay dying.

Small, awkward but undaunted as 
I cannot hold the inexorable;  too many abstract adjectives
I cross to her room. I'd suggest a colon here, immediately followed by the next line

Even more are here, older,
packed tight, embers that surround
her with their warmth
as hers lessens. the three lines above are wonderful. the third line implies the fourth: better not to make it obvious.

Her husband sits by her head,
his gaze fixed, uncertain, hand  I can't reconcile a 'fixed' with an 'uncertain' gaze. Not needed, IMO.
tight on his cane.    underlined - I loved this
Beside is the empty chair
for me.

Her eyes of nearly ninety years  unnecessary, wordy ambiguity
soften as I hold her black hand in my white hand,
and anchor myself.  Relief comes as I hold
her and her husband in my mind, doesn't sound good, but can't think of an alternate right now
all others receding dimly.  I disclose
what she already knows.
They all do. a bit anticlimactic, and a waste of a line

Sooner than expected 
she becomes still.  Her hand in mine yet,
I tell her husband
"She has passed".
Looking nowhere, eyes empty -- he asks no one
"And now what will I do?" nice strophe

I reach inside but find
nothing
except that which does not grow back,
leaving me less than I was. 
Forward I must grow -- as forward I turn to go.

The children continue to play 
in the warm dappled sunlight
filtered through the paneled window.

She has her victory.  Her calm
inscrutable wisdom not lost
but manifest in all those who 
surround, accept and forgive 
and comfort even me.               I don't think you need to add in this 'moral of the story'. weakens the effect of the poem. 'calm inscrutable wisdom' is pretty terrible.

[quick note:  this was brought to mind by an earlier poem (that seems to have disappeared) that was about giving negative news.]