Reminders that we don’t have children are hard to avoid.
- Friends and family gathered in a rented hall in Yachats, Oregon at tables laden with flowers under hanging “90” banners.
The seemingly ageless woman who ushers at Saturday Mass was turning 90. Her family had gone all out to surprise her. Friends and cousins had flown across the country. Children, grandchildren and a 14-month-old great grandchild were there.
I sat with friends from church. We chatted and nibbled on cannelloni, fruit, rolls, and crackers until we got the word to hush.
In she came, too shocked to speak for a minute. Her daughter wrapped a beauty queen banner around her and we continued the party. There were pictures, stories, a fancy cake and champagne. Photos under a flowered arch.
I was happy for the guest of honor—and so jealous. Who will throw me a 90th birthday party, if I live to that age? The older people in my life will be dead by then, and I have no children or grandchildren.
Maybe I shouldn’t assume. Maybe my niece and nephew and their kids, grown up by then, would be thrilled to honor me. Maybe I’ll throw my own party.
2. From the party, I drove to church. It was Mother’s Day weekend. I would hide if I could, but I play the piano at the Saturday Mass, so I can’t avoid the mother mania.
A wonderful woman who volunteers for everything interrupted choir practice with a box of floral corsages. Real flowers, very pretty, all different colors. I said, “I am not a mother.” She pished that away and pinned a yellow corsage on my blue sweater.
By the time Mass started, all the women had corsages. You could not tell the mothers from the non-mothers. Maybe that’s good.
Mass proceeded. I sang, I played, I warmed up and took my sweater off. At the end, Father Joseph invited mothers to stand. I sat. “Stand up,” Martha hissed. I shook my head. No. People need to know that some of us don’t have children. In a Catholic parish full of elderly people, we’re a minority, but we exist, and Mother’s Day is difficult. To pretend to be just like everyone else feels wrong.
I may not be a mother, but I’m keeping that yellow chrysanthemum until it falls apart.
3. As a guest at a book club meeting last night, I answered readers’ questions about my novel Up Beaver Creek, which features a childless woman as the main character. One person was curious as to why PD’s childlessness was emphasized. Did I, the author, have children? No, I said, I don’t. I could have said so much about how not having kids can affect a person’s whole life, but I was busy trying to explain that my character is NOT me, that she is someone I made up. I also noted that it isn’t easy to find fiction featuring people who don’t have children. I’m not sure she understood.
Question: All of this led me to wondering. Do the partners who who deny us children understand how it feels at times like Mother’s Day or any gathering where people are surrounded by their kids?
Are they sympathetic? Do they offer any comfort? That’s a big question. I knew my husband was aware and that he cared. At least once, he gave me one of those, “You’re not my mom, but Happy Mother’s Day” cards, and that was helpful.
This shouldn’t be your problem alone. You need to help each other get through the bumpy times. It might not be Mother’s Day. It could be your niece’s christening or the birth of someone else’s baby. It could be a birthday party or a baby shower. It could be an ordinary day when you see a happy family and suddenly burst into tears.
Your partner could suggest an outing far away from the festivities. A hike instead of brunch. A movie that has nothing to do with the holiday. A just-because-I-love-you gift. You should support each other rather than one of you crying in the bathroom and the other doing whatever he or she usually does on that day. Isn’t that what love is about?
I’m just saying if your partner is the reason you have this hole in your life, he or she needs to help you on the occasions that make it hurt.
It should work both ways. Mother’s Day is over for another year, but Father’s Day is coming. Or as frequent commenter Tony says, “chopped liver day.”
What do you think? Does your partner comfort you when the lack of children gets to you? Is this a sore spot between you? Is there someone else you can go to for comfort?
I look forward to your comments.
Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com
Childless by Marriage 
He thinks he does! He did buy me some flowers to plant from Home Depot for MD. On Mother’s Day he was being extra nice, but I know some of it has to do with guilt.
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Sue,
My wife is not at all comforting about.
Frankly her grandsons are good boys. But I don’t love them unconditionally like I would if I had biological kids. I’ve tried to be grandfatherly to them. I just can’t do it.
And many people see that as an evil in me.
I’ve had some relatives have tried to guilt trip me into changing. I told them to kick rocks. We men catch it as well about being childless and that’s patently unfair.
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When I get upset, unexpectedly, my husband usually fumbles. He’s not ready for it. Sometimes, if someone has said something stupid, he might direct his feelings towards that person. “What a jerk, they never should have said that to you!” That seems easier for him – move the negative feelings to someone outside the room and then it’s “us” against “them”.
My birthday is usually a time I fall into a funk. He’s expecting that. And he feels guilty. He hasn’t denied me a child, but our past marital problems (largely his actions) complicated things. Our marriage is now amazing, but it’s too late. His guilt during these times results in a passive aggressive behavior and he is zero comfort to me.
Other times we are on the same page. Around the time of my last funk, he was feeling it too. His youngest brother posted some pictures of his little boy and the largest fish you’ve ever seen. The little boy is grinning like crazy and everyone was fussing over him. To be honest, this news overshadowed a pregnancy announcement in the family (but that’s a whole other set of dysfunction in this family). My husband knew he’d never get to experience something like that with a child of his own. And it hurt. We both were hurting.
We attended a graduation party on Mother’s Day. One of his elderly aunts was wishing a circle of women a “happy Mothers Day”. I was cheerful and smiling along when she turned to me, grasped my hand, and said, “And a VERY, happy, MOTHERS day to YOU, TOO!” She made serious eye contact and told me how very important Godmothers are. It was cringe, and the other woman sort of averted their eyes. But my husband didn’t. He gave me that look that told me he understood exactly what I was feeling in that moment.
I get it. She was trying to be nice and sensitive. She was TRYING to be kind. Because she feels like my life is lonely and sad. But it wasn’t kind. She called out one of my most complicated sadnesses (in front of like 20 people) and made me “play pretend” so she could feel better. She is elderly so I thanked her to make the whole thing end. But my husband knew that I didn’t care about her summer vacation plans – he knew I was moving things along. I was mortified in the moment but we laughed about it later.
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Thank you sharing this, Anon. It sounds like your husband does pretty well in supporting you, at least sometimes. As for the elderly aunt, all you can do is shrug it off.
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My husband is not sensitive and compassionate concerning my childlessness or childless grief on MD or any other day. He lives on his own planet.
This year when I needed to pick a card for my own Mom for Mother’s Day, I asked him to do it, thinking delegating this task would be easy and good for him.
I rejected the first two cards he picked out because they were $10, which is high to me. Then he picked one out that was reasonably priced. Then he said, “I should get one for you.” This was a first in 22 years of marriage. I began to protest. He said, “Well considering the cost…” then he picked one out, had me read it and then he put it back where he got it. Laughing the whole time at how funny he was.
So that stings. I’d rather be invisible. On the plus side, MD was peaceful and quiet, which is a rare gift in my world.
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Oh my gosh. I can’t believe your husband did that. If it were me, there might have been a fight in the card aisle at that store.
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We were visiting a friend of my husband’s in another country. This friend has a lovely wife and the sweetest 6 year old little girl. We were staying over in their house for a few days and so I had no choice but to witness the beautiful little routines that mom and daughter had together. It was a punch in the gut every single day for 4 days and there was no where to run because we were living in their house and spending all day together.
Our hosts were very kind and it took every ounce of courage and self control in me to look outwardly happy and pleasant to be around even though I was dying inside. I was surprised by how hard the grief hit me. I kept picturing this imaginary child that I was a mother to and having fun, sweet moments with them expect that I knew it wasn’t going to be true. Also, I felt unusually lonely because in my own home I am mothering my dog and my day’s routine and conversations are focused on him. Now, far away I was completely out of my element and had nothing to contribute to the conversations.
My husband was completely oblivious to my internal struggles and we had a huge argument afterwards. I talked to my counsellor after I got back home and that helped but in the moment I was so lonely and so scared.
Context: I am 43 and at that age where my biological clock has already run out and the window for adoption is closing fast too. My husband flip flops on whether he wants children or not and so my anxiety about “time is running out”, “I am missing out” is at an all time high. This is a sore subject for us.
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I’m sorry, Anon. I wish I could fix it for you.
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