Confessions of a Free Range Prolapsed Catholic

1971. I am 19 he is 23. I am a on scholarship student studying music to become a high school music teacher. He is a snappy dresser, tall man working at the Newcastle Co-Store. He was raised by his beloved Nanna after he survived polio. His Dad is a respected policeman. I’m cradle Catholic, his grandfather ( wife of his Nanna) is a Mason. Hardly the perfect future!

I am cradle Catholic. Fourth of the six children. Marist Brother, Priest, member of a religious order of women, me, seven moths pregnant, ordained priest in the making, gifted, talented, respected journalist aged 13 at the time!

Struggle to get agreement to the marriage but once it’s there, my magnificent Mum and Dad siblings and their communities and families hit the ground running and we get married! ” too young to be married…. but what could they do? They were gonna have a ba-a–aby!” Number 1on 2HD charts!

Now? In my chair, watching NBN, celebrating the new mayor youngest child ( born 1987, labelled a geriatric mother by the specialist, delivered by cesarean section) pooch quiet , perhaps picking up the vibes OR still sedated after an attempt to get her claws trimmed living as she does in a household where 59% are on blood thinners(!!!!!!). Groom ? Headphones on watching the iPad before getting ready to make dinner!

Implants? Me- pacemakery, knees, and hip. Him defibrillator. Passion? Don’t be ridiculous! But tomorrow, in the event of us both waking up I will be thankful for this wonderful life. This good man. This family we started – 4 children, 6 grandchildren a ” decade” in my nightly “rosary” of gratitude and wonder.

Today he bought me roses. Today I bought him creative art resources. He and me know us so well!