25 years ago I had a wife who was dying of ovarian cancer. I was essentially her full-time caregiver. Whatever time I had to myself was limited to those times her companion or a visiting nurse showed up or occasionally someone from the church came to sit with her or talk with her. Her adult sons would occasionally visit to watch a movie. Essentially I was stuck around the clock. During the brief times I had to myself I would walk a block or so to the local pub and have a beer and talk to my buddies about my wife or sports or maybe play a hand or two of cards. I never spent a huge amount of time, and it was not about the drinking, it was about the socializing. It was amazing the amount of snippy criticism I would get from members of my parish. You are not taking good enough care of her. You’re not sensitive enough to her needs. You shouldn’t be taking any time for yourself and 1000 other cutting remarks. Not one of these people ever offered to come over and help. At my priest’s 50th birthday party, his wife came over and warned me that I better take better care of my wife. I went to the priest who was a personal friend and said I am doing the best I can. Quite frankly I prefer the support and advice from the pub to that from the church. I never heard a peep ever again and my wife died quietly in my arms while I was reading her the gospel of John. It was her last request. My only regret is that I did not get a chance to finish it for her. In all fairness to my friend, he immediately came over when I called in tears and took care of everything. I was a mess. I will never forget his kindness.