About 16 years ago I was visiting my parents and Aunt Mary in Seaford.
At that time my father was an invalid, mostly moving only from his bed to his chair in the living room, and even to do that he needed my mother's help. At that time my father never wanted anyone but my mother caring for him or doing for him, and so she did, day and night.
But she also still had my Aunt Mary to care for, and sometimes there was a bit of a rivalry between my father and my Aunt for my mother's attention.
Every night my mother and my Aunt Mary used sit and say prayers together in a little sitting corner near the fireplace at the end of the dining room.
But one night during my visit in the middle of Mom and Aunt Mary's prayers my father started calling in the insistent way that he sometimes would when he was particulary anxious:
"Ro-maine! Ro-maine! RO-MAINE!"
So my mother stopped the prayers and hurried off to him, leaving my Aunt Mary sitting by herself holding onto her rosary.
Mary waited patiently for as long as she could, but when she couldn't wait any longer she started calling to my mother in her anxious, insistent way, her rosary still clutched in her hand:
"Ro-may-nee! Ro-may-nee! RO-MAY-NEE!"
There was nothing I could do to calm her down, she wanted my mother.
"What's wrong, Mary?!" my mother called, hurrying back from my father.
At the very end of her rope, Mary cried, "If you'd stop f***ing around and sh*tting around we could finish our prayers!"
I believe that for Aunt Mary nothing was sacred. And at the same time everything was.