I'm not religious anymore, but my grandma is. She's the most religious person I know who I regularly interact with. She prays to saint Anthony whenever she misplaces something, wears a headscarf during mass, has multiple pictures and mini statues of Jesus and Maria, goes to church at least once per week, and every year she watches Ben Hur around Easter and cries at the crucifixion. She's also extremely kind and talkative, she loves telling stories about her childhood or of her teen years when she worked as a nanny for a rich family. She's funny and super caring, and I love her.
When I was 12, she randomly told me that if I ever married a woman she wouldn't come to my wedding because homosexuality is like beastiality. I already knew I was gay at that point, but I was deep in the closet, no one knew, and definitely not my grandma.
I'll never come out to my grandma, and I've accepted that. But sometimes it feels bad, sitting with her and seeing her smile at me, knowing that if she knew, she'd probably never smile like that in my direction again.