God Left When the Old Lady Moved In

When I was a little girl, I loved church. I really, really loved church. And I wanted to marry Jesus when I grew up. No...not be a nun, but marry Jesus. I was very upset when I realized that couldn't happen.
I looked forward to mass every Sunday. I loved the smell of the church. The cool, slick feeling of the wooden pews. The clink of the kneeling bench as you lowered it to pray. And then I would stare at the altar, memorizing every nook and cranny and finally settling on looking at Christ. After telling God everything, I would grab the hymnal and start looking up the songs we would get to seen, squeaking if it were the ones I really loved. Plus, we would get to sing the Gloria, which was my favorite. If we had mass at school during the week, that was all the better. I was so completely in love with God. I talked to him constantly. We had a table in the living room that had this drawer with candles and matches. I would light candles every day and kneel there and pray. God was my dearest friend.
Things changed when my Nanny moved in about four and a half years ago. She was a Saturday evening mass person. She wanted us to attend mass as a family and so we did. I had not been to a Saturday evening mass since I was baptized when I was five months old. It was a complete and total let down. At first, I thought, "How lovely." The evening sun added a warmth to everything. But then, mass started. And it came time to sing the 'Gloria'. Only there was no music. And then the responsorial songs...only there was no music. Surely this was a mistake! I decided that perhaps the music people were sick. Or on vacation. Next week would be better. It wasn't. Week after week with little music. And just like in real life for me....NO music equals a slow decent into hell. Music has and will save me from the brink of dying.
Each week, our Saturday family time was cut short by 'having to get ready for mass'. No more day trips. No working in the yard in the cool of the evening. No more family dinner and a movie nights. Any disregard for mass now was met with temper tantrums and rantings. Mass became an obligation. A hideous obligation. It felt as though God just packed his bags and left.
And he left our home, too.
My mom was raised Baptist and prayers before meals were more free-thought and meaningful. Nanny only wanted 'Bless Us O Lord...' and prayer changed at our table. Fridays during Lent became hell. Mom was allergic to shellfish, but that seemed to be all Fran wanted as her 'no meat' dinner. For my mom to prepare food that she could not eat and should not touch. Holy Days of obligation meant that someone was going to have to leave work in order to get Nanny to mass. Because a 7pm Spanish/English mass was too long and the church was full of 'them'.
I know that no one can make you do anything without your permission. I understand that. But you can be bullied into submission to make things go smoother.
My Nanny moved to a nursing home when mom had a heart attack. Mom couldn't take care of her anymore. She's not coming back.
There will be no more disdainful discussions about overweight people, ethnic origins, southerners, protestants, the neighbors or politics. There will be no more alcoholism. There will be no more whining and temper tantrums. No more diatribes on the wonders of her daughter and her bastard (both literally and euphemistically) son. No more listening to her tell my mom what a failure she is for not giving my father more children. Or at least a son. No more listening to her tell my dad that she was doing her duty to have him and that he owes her a debt of gratitude.
However....the music has returned to our home. Friends have trickled back into our lives. We have animals again. Our house has gone from feeling like a brick hell to a real home.

I can't help but wonder....is it too late to see if God would like to move back in now?