THERE ARE ONLY A FEW parishioners in the hospital who need my attention.
Unfortunately, one of them is Gloria MacMillian.
“Thanks for coming to see me on my deathbed, Father,” she says, pitifully.
“Well, as soon as I heard, I rushed over,” I say with my best caring, pastoral tone.
OK, I lied. I heard this two days ago. I’ve been steeling myself for the experience.
“It means a lot to a weak old woman to have someone care about her so much,” she sighs. “I’m alone in the world, you know, Father.”
“That’s not true, Grandma,” her long-suffering granddaughter-in-law, Serenity MacMillian, says patiently.
“I’m just a burden to everyone,” she whines.
“Not everyone,” Serenity mutters. “Just. Me.”
“She and that no good grandson of mine—”
“—Don’t talk about Bob like that—!”
“—just want to g
