My husband once asked me to chose, him or Catholicism. I’m still Catholic. And still divorced. I could no sooner stop being Catholic than I could stop myself from breathing. Even then, dead as a door nail, I’d still be Catholic.
I have a son who is Catholic. Even my damn cat is named after a Pope. My collection of Catholic kitsch is the envy of all the little Abuelitas. Everything I own has been blessed. Twice. Even the damn cat.