Confessions of a Free Range Prolapsed Catholic

I am a side sleeper. Heading for night rest, after turning off the night light, fluffing the pillows, hauling the bed covers up to my ears, I roll onto my left side, grasp my beautiful wooden memory beads (formerly known as rosary beads, gifted to me by my God mother) in my left hand and wrap my right arm around me. My hand rests holding my left breast, having checked to feel my pacemaker, and I begin my litany of thanks : Patricia Grace, Kenneth Charles, Megan Elizabeth, Joseph Charles, Gabrielle Grace, Oscar Charles, Eliza May, Darcy Robert Charles, Darcy Robert Charles, Jacob Robert Charles, Savannah Louise Mary. Our children and theirs.

When I have difficulty surrendering to sleep, I unfurl my arm and run my hand across my brow and hear my mother’s voice singing an Irish lullaby. It’s the physical touch that brings her back to me and I am self soothed. Sleep comes.

I heard an Australian doctor who has been working in Gaza describe the agony she has witnessed. For her, the worst thing was seeing babies now orphaned, who had lost the capacity to self soothe because of the amputation of their arms as the result of the indiscriminate bombing of their places of refuge! Babies self soothe by wrapping their arms around themselves.

It horrified me!

Horror enabled by hate!