Heaven Help Me

Granny is really big on religion.

After barely surviving breast cancer and nasty case of pneumonia in 1965 (my mother said, "They thought to call a priest but not a doctor"), she became even more devout. She used to make a yearly pilgrimage to St. Anne de Beaupre in Quebec. She was always going to church, saying rosaries and novenas and whatnot. Up until a few months ago, she hosted a statue of the Blessed Mother in the living room, surrounded by candles. I still have to write out the checks for the weekly collections at her church, which she can no longer attend.

I grew up going to Catholic school and it does one of two things to you -

1.) You become a really good Catholic, or

2.) You become an atheist by first grade.

Guess which one I became?

Religion has little place in my life. Though I enjoy learning about other world religions and think there are things to be said for Judaism and Buddhism, it doesn't ever cross my mind on a personal level. Roman Catholicism, which I grew up with, especially rankles me. I find it medieval and backward. There's a reason Martin Luther went to get a hammer.

Still, every night, Granny walks the bottom floor of the house, fervently whispering her rosary. And every night I want to shout down the stairs, "Granny! IT'S NOT HELPING!"