We bring our family home to die. I used to think it was only a Southern thing because it was only in the South where I saw that done. Today, we will bury a family patriarch. Two weeks ago, we brought him home from the hospital to die. We knew his time was coming to an end. Doctors and nurses had told us so. But we still held out hope that once he was home, under the loving care of family, that his condition would turn around and our beloved Papa Mook would be his cantankerous self again. That he would go back to loving on his “sweet, sweet girls” and finding fault with the sons who never learned how to sharpen a knife properly. God’s plans were not his family’s plans. Sitting hospice is never an easy thing to do. You worry over the little things. A raspy cough will make your heart race. You worry for their comfort and pain and the things they can no longer convey to you with their words. You count your loved one’s every breath. You sit and you wait for the inevitable and you pray t