Childless holidays

Without Kids, Will You Spend Your Holidays Alone?

Sue Fagalde Lick alone in old age, Childless holidays, childless in old age, feeling left out on the holidays, growing old without children, who will be there when you're old , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Dear friends,

Today, I’m sharing a revised version of a post I wrote for my “Can I Do It Alone?” Substack on Easter. I don’t dwell on childlessness there, but the sad truth is that if you don’t have kids, you may wind up alone in old age.

I’m watching “American Idol” on TV and crying. All those weepy moms in the audience remind me that I will never have a child to love and support like that.

It’s Easter. I have been trying hard to be Zen about not having a family to spend the holiday with, but now the reality is sinking in.

This afternoon, a niece posted a photo of my sister-in-law surrounded by her grandchildren in front of a homemade birthday cake. They had gathered for a combined Easter/birthday celebration. The kids didn’t have to be reminded and cajoled to do something for their mother. They just did it. I am happy for her. She works hard taking care of those kids and my brother.

On my last birthday, which was better than average, I went to my weekly open mic, where my fellow musicians sang to me and made me feel loved. At church, having read my posts about my upcoming birthday, our videographer brought me flowers. My neighbors invited me over for supper. It was a little uncomfortable because there were four of them and one of me. But it was kind of them, and we had fun.

I couldn’t help thinking people felt sorry for me because I was alone. Hell, I felt sorry for me.

If I didn’t say a word, who would think to do anything? And when was the last time someone baked a cake for me?

Back to the moms in the “American Idol” audience. I started wondering what my kids would be like. Would I have a pretty daughter like my niece or a tall son who would adore me and take care of me? Would they add in-laws and grandchildren so my family could be as big as my brother’s? Would I never spend a birthday or holiday alone? Would I bake cakes for their birthdays?

Excuse me while I fetch some Kleenex.

Yes, I know. I could have children who would not show up for me. Several of my parent friends spent the holiday alone because their kids were busy, lived far away, or they weren’t getting along. Some people’s children have died; surely that pain is worse than anything we might feel about never having them. Babies don’t come with guarantees.

I had three stepchildren. When my husband died, they slipped away. What little I know about them these days is posted on Facebook. What if I had tried harder to keep in touch, to be part of their lives? Would they have let me? I don’t know. I didn’t know how to be a mom, especially when my husband wasn’t enthusiastic about being a dad, but I think I blew it.

By choosing Fred, I chose a life without children of my own. He was a wonderful husband. We were so in love. Who knew he’d have early-onset Alzheimer’s and die at the age I am now? I thought he would be with me for at least another ten years.

At the top of my to-do pile is my health care advanced directive form, which specifies what I want done in a medical emergency if I can’t speak for myself. It has spaces to list the people who will speak for me. It has been on that pile for months. Besides my brother, who lives 700 miles away, I still don’t know who to choose as my alternate representative. If I had children, I’d put their names down and expect them to do it.

Who else would care enough to hang around a hospital making life and death decisions for me? I have friends, but do I have the right to put that kind of responsibility on them? Should I recruit one of my cousins, the cousins I only see at funerals? What if I put out a call for volunteers? Would anyone respond? I’m stuck.

I will figure it out. I will find someone, even if I have to pay a professional. I just learned there are “nurse advocates” who will step in if you don’t have family to speak for you. But I’m jealous of those people who can call on their grown children for everything from Easter parties to rides to the doctor to managing their affairs when they can’t do it anymore.

When a couple has children, it starts with one baby but grows into a family, with young ones to replace the older ones who pass on to the next life. If you give that up for the love of one man or woman and they leave or die, you will be alone. On Easter. Christmas. Your birthday. The anniversary of your husband’s death. The day you win a prize. The day the doctor says you have cancer.

Many people happily choose not to have children and are confident they can deal with their childfree future. Others are physically unable to get pregnant or carry a pregnancy to term, and they will feel the loss all their lives.

For those of us who are childless by marriage, who have choices, we need to think very hard before we put all our eggs in the no-kids basket. If your partner is able but unwilling, talk to them about what will happen if they are gone, and you’re left alone. If they really love you, maybe they’ll change their minds.

I know this is a weird post, but it’s what I’m thinking about this week.

How was your Easter? Was not having children an issue for you? Have you thought about what will happen when you’re older?

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At my “Can I Do It Alone?” Substack, we talk about all sorts of things related to living alone. Come join us at https://suelick.substack.com.

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A Childless Holiday Can Be Anything You Want it to Be

Sue Fagalde Lick Central oregon coast, childless at Christmas, Childless holidays, foster children , , , , , , , ,

There was a moment Christmas Eve when I looked out from my seat in the choir at the beautiful families in church and wanted to weep. I don’t have that. I will never have that. I will never be the mom surrounded by children and grandchildren with her handsome husband by her side.

But I was not alone. I was with our eight-person choir, who feel like family, and I had songs to sing and play, with solos to perform. I had to pull it together, even if I was just going through the motions. I admit that I visited the liquor cabinet after Mass and toasted my late husband with a bit of Cointreau, a French liqueur he left behind.

Christmas day dawned gray and rainy, but I felt better. I sat beside my Christmas tree and opened the presents I had not already opened the day before—who’s to tell me when to open my gifts?

The ones from family felt as if they didn’t really know me, but I had another Mass to play music for, so I didn’t dwell on it. I made myself a breakfast of fresh strawberries, a homemade muffin, and tea and dressed for Christmas Day Mass. Instead of Christmas Eve’s long skirt that was constantly in my way, I wore black slacks, a green shirt, and a sparkly vest—I was comfortable and festive.

I look back on my Christmas day in brightly colored mental snapshots and feel blessed.

At church, I played the piano. We sang carols and solos before Mass, and my song went as well as it possibly could. The church sparkled with red flowers and people in their holiday clothes. I love our small white church by the sea and all the people in it.

After Mass, I dashed home for lunch—a meat loaf sandwich, my favorite. I played a CD of Handel’s “Messiah” while making my salad for dinner with friends. I talked for a long time on the phone with my best friend in California, then drove 45 minutes up the coast to pick up Orpha, a friend, from her senior residence. Childless and widowed like me, she is still gorgeous in her 80s, and fun. We laughed and talked until we arrived at our friends’ house. There, it was a riot of gift wrappings, food, cookies, wine, and yes, kids, two teens and a little one. After their biological kids grew up, our hosts became foster parents. They specialize in teens with gender identity issues.

Most years, I spend at least one of the holidays there, and it always feels like home. It feels like family—no, it feels better than family because all of the people there have been chosen. My friends have collected me and Orpha, the two men who share a house across the street, their own children, their foster children, and their dogs and cats. It’s loud, crazy and wonderful, and I don’t feel a lack of anything.

Shortly after darkness fell, we oldies headed home. I traded my church/party clothes for soft PJs and settled in to watch the new Meg Ryan movie on Amazon Prime.

The doorbell rang. I paused the movie. My young neighbors and their friends sang “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” in perfect harmony, just for me. They all hugged me, and they gave me cookies, a giant candy cane, and a big beautiful photo taken in the location of my novel Up Beaver Creek. So sweet.

My brother’s family, whom I miss a lot, was having a more traditional Christmas with the kids and grandkids. My best friend was at her adult daughter’s home, but they weren’t getting along and she had a stomachache. Not all family holidays are joyful. If I were with family, I might have felt the lack of my own children and my late husband more deeply. It comes and goes. I have losses to grieve, but at the same time I have so much freedom and so much love in my life.

There is life beyond childlessness. It can be beautiful. You do need to reach out to other people and let them reach out to you. If you close the door and wallow in your loneliness, well, you will be lonely.

How did your holiday go? I’d love to hear the good, bad and ugly. Did you feel sad about not having children or relieved? Did you do anything a standard family might not have done? One couple I know went to Cabo. Why not?

A few days ago, when I was feeling creative, I wrote a new Christmas song. Click here if you’d like to hear it. Let me know if the link doesn’t work.

Next weekend is the New Year’s holiday. What will you do differently next year?

Thank you all for being here. I treasure your comments.

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Does Having Stepchildren Cure the Holiday Childless Blues?

Sue Fagalde Lick Childless holidays, childless stepfathers, childless stepmothers, step-parenting, stepchildren , , , , , , , ,
In the foreground is a massive roasted turkey surrounded by potatoes and lemons. In the background, a bowl of grapes and a dark-haired woman in a white sweater. The woman seems uneasy.

If your partner has children, does that mean you are not childless? Some people would think so, but do you? 

Thanksgiving is coming, which means you may be gathering with family and friends you don’t see often. You may find yourself sitting at the table with multiple generations, including parents with young children and parents with grown children, and they may all be wondering when you are going to add your own offspring to the family tree. They may ask awkward questions that make you wish you had stayed home. Your partner may or may not be any help. 

But if you bring stepchildren, will that make you a mom or dad just like everyone else? What if the kids are with their other parent this year? Will showing photos and talking about them be enough?

As usual, I’m full of questions. I started thinking about these things after listening to Sheri Johnson’s Awakening Worth in Childless Women Nov. 6 podcast. She interviewed Gail Miller, who is a life coach, a maternal fetal medicine physician, and a stepmother. Like me, Miller married a man who already had three children. 

Miller raised some points that rang a lot of bells in my head. Her husband assumed she wouldn’t need to have children of her own because his kids would be her kids. “WE have kids,” he said. Like me, she didn’t argue with that when they first got together.

It was a long time, Miller said, before he understood that she was still grieving the loss of the children she might have had. He was sympathetic, but it was too late for her to have a baby.

When I married Fred, who also had three children from his first marriage, my family stopped asking when I was going to have a baby. I didn’t need to. Here are our kids, one, two, three. Sure, they didn’t look anything like me, and they spent most of their time living elsewhere, but check the box, kids, done. 

I didn’t feel that way. I still wanted my own. I moped, whined, and got angry, especially on Mother’s Day, when the kids were off honoring their bio mom while my friends were insisting I was a mother just like them. Um, no. 

Did Fred understand? Sometimes. I think he felt guilty, but that didn’t make me feel better.

Miller said people assume you will mother your stepchildren like your own, but these kids are not yours, and you don’t have the same rights. Your partner, not wanting to be the bad guy, may not back you up. Nor will the children’s biological parent. The kids can very logically respond, “You’re not my mother” or “You’re not my father.” You might back off to maintain peace. You might put up with bad behavior because you’re trying so hard to make a family and to get these kids to love you. 

Meanwhile, the kids are torn. They don’t want to be disloyal to the parent who is not there. How can they love you when they already have another mom or dad? If they’re with you, what are they missing at their other home? 

Step-parenting is difficult year-round, but the holidays bring added stress. How do you manage it? 

Miller offers some tips: 

  • You can choose to skip the traditional family Thanksgiving. Stay home. But consider whether the repercussions from not going would be worse. 
  • You can tell the hosts in advance that you do not want to talk about your childlessness. 
  • You don’t have to answer nosy questions. You can respond, “That’s personal. I don’t want to talk about it.” 

A few of my own:

  • Be honest with your partner about your feelings and ask them to back you up.
  • If your stepchildren aren’t there and people keep talking about their kids, feel free to whip out some photos and brag a little.
  • If you do bring your stepchildren, talk about it with them in advance. These people may be your family, but they are strangers to them. Explain who will be there and how they should be addressed–“Aunt,” “Grandma,” “Mr. Thompson,” etc. 
  • Don’t worry too much about them embarrassing you. All kids embarrass their parents.
  • Don’t obsess on your lack of children. As Miller said, being childless is just part of her world, not the whole thing. 
  • Don’t expect the worst. It’s quite possible everyone will focus on food and football and no one will say a word about having or not having children. Try to enjoy the day and be grateful for whatever happens.

What do you think about all this? Do you have stepchildren? Do they fill your need for children or make you want kids of your own even more? What are your plans for the holidays? Do you have advice?  Please comment. 

To listen to the whole one-hour podcast, click here.

You can find Gail Miller on Instagram: @childlesspathonward

Visit Sheri Johnson’s website

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Innocent Question Creates Awkward Childless Moment

Sue Fagalde Lick Childless holidays, childlessness, traveling alone , , , , , , , , , ,
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“Did your family have a good Fourth of July?”

It was just a friendly question as I turned in my rental car and we worked out how much I had to pay after insurance (too much). It had been a difficult week. I had traveled to Ohio for the National Federation of State Poetry Societies convention, which was wonderful. But the trip home was exhausting, with delayed planes, incredible crowds, and no time for a decent meal. When I finally got into my own car in Portland, Oregon, I was looking forward to a relaxed three-hour drive back to the coast. But it was not to be.

While I was in Ohio, thieves stole the catalytic converter from the bottom of my Honda Element, which I had left in a “park and fly” lot at a Portland hotel. The converters, which filter the toxic chemicals from the car’s exhaust, are easy pickings for criminals, who sell them for the precious metals they contain. It’s such a common crime in Portland the police don’t have time to talk to the victims. Read about it here.

I used my premium AAA coverage to get towed to Corvallis, a smaller city where I at least knew my way around, but it took all day to work things out with University Honda, State Farm, and Hertz. I was jet-lagged and still 60 miles from home, with no husband or children I could call to rescue me, although my dog-sitter did offer to come get me. I declined because I would need a car for however long it took to get mine fixed. Parts are scarce these days. I hear horror stories of people waiting months for auto repairs.

I was lucky it only took a week to get my car fixed. Maybe it’s because I cried in the waiting room. Everyone was very nice to me. Meanwhile, I drove a red Ford Escape to watch fireworks with friends on July 3 in Waldport, 10 miles south of where I live. It was all grownups this year because their kids have grown up and moved away.

On the actual Fourth, the friend I had hoped to hang out with was sick, so I spent the day mostly alone. I played a lot of guitar, walked with Annie, visited a neighbor, and watched several old episodes of “Sex and the City.” I danced to the music of Lyle Lovett while making eggplant Parmesan from my Cooking for One cookbook for my dinner. I was so glad to be home.

Toward the end of the day, I got my usual holiday-alone blues. I could hear but not see the firework show in Newport. I pictured everyone else gathered for barbecues, fireworks, and fun on the beach with their families while here I was all by my lonesome self. Woe is me. I wrote it all out in a terrible poem, watched some more “Sex and the City,” and went to bed.

“Did your family have a good Fourth of July?”

I could respond in so many ways. “What family?” “It’s just me and my dog.” “I don’t know. They’re all far away. Why don’t you call them and ask?”

But I didn’t. This pretty young woman and I were getting along so well. Why spoil it with reality? I just said, “Yeah.”

“That’s good,” she said, and we moved on.

How was your Fourth of July? Was your childlessness a factor? Please share in the comments. Non-U.S. readers, substitute any holiday. The assumptions are the same.

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Workplace Conflicts Up, Birth Rates Down, More Holiday Survival Tips

Sue Fagalde Lick Childless holidays, childless in the workplace, declining birth rate, why people don't want children , , , , , ,

Today’s post is a shiny gift bag full of interesting events and posts in the childless community.

1) On the Childless by Marriage Facebook page, I recently shared a post that riled some readers. Let’s see what you think.

“This Mom Ran Out Of Vacation Days, Asked Her Kid-Free Coworker To Give Her Some, And Now The Co-Worker Is Asking If She’s An A**hole For Saying No”

Before you go crazy, you should know that the mom used up her paid time off dealing with her brother’s death and her daughter’s illness. I don’t know why the company didn’t offer some kind of bereavement leave. I mean, she lost her brother. But should she expect a co-worker to give up her paid time off because she doesn’t have children and presumably doesn’t need those days as much as someone with kids? If you read past the annoying ads to the end of the story, you’ll see that her co-workers came up with a pretty good solution.

But what do you think? Have you ever been asked to sacrifice your time off because a co-worker with kids needed a break? What is or would be your reaction? Does your employer have policies to deal with these situations? All of us have times when we need to take off to deal with family emergencies or our own needs, not to mention needing a vacation now and then. How can companies make it fair?

2) A recent Pew Survey found that 44% of Americans between the ages of 18 and 49 who aren’t parents say it is not too likely or not at all likely that they will have children—an increase of 7 percentage points from 2018. That’s a big percentage. You might want to read this axios piece for the details, but here are some highlights.

  • 19.6 percent of Americans between 55 and 64 reported being childless, compared to 15.9 percent of those 65-74 and 10.98 percent of those over 75.
  • There are more dogs than children in San Francisco.
  • Fears about the environment and the general state of the world are seriously impacting fertility rates.

A related article, “Poll: More Americans Don’t Plan on Having Kids,” looks at the reasons people stated for not having children. A surprising 56 percent said they “just didn’t want to.” Here are their other reasons:

  • Medical reasons: 19%
  • Financial reasons: 17%
  • Don’t have a partner: 15%
  • Age or partner’s age: 10%
  • State of the world: 9%
  • Environmental reasons: 5%
  • Partner doesn’t want kids: 2%

What would you or your partner say to this question?

3) I heard a great podcast last week. “Single, Childless, and/or Struggling? 10 Tips for Surviving the Holidays,” offered at the Sara Avant Stover podcast, gives some great suggestions. It’s only 20 minutes. Give it a listen.

Have I given you too much this week? Maybe I have. It’s almost Christmas. I’m feeling generous. As always, I welcome your comments. Feel free to be as opinionated as you please. And if you want to write something longer than a paragraph, how about submitting a guest post for the blog?

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Those Moments When You Really Wish You Had Kids

Sue Fagalde Lick Childless by Marriage blog, Childless holidays, childless house, childless widow , , , , , , , , , ,
Photo by Tara Winstead on Pexels.com

As I was standing tiptoe on the step stool after replacing a light bulb in the office, fighting to hold the glass cover, the metal thing that goes over the hole and the knobby thing you need to screw in to hold it tight, my arms screamed in pain, and I knew that any second I would either fall or drop everything. No wonder my father and my mother-in-law waited for the “kids” to come over when their lights burned out. I’ve had four go this week. I have run out of bulbs. The fixture over the kitchen is hanging crooked because I couldn’t get the metal plate thing back on and gave up. Also, plaster from the ceiling above the fixture was falling into my hair.

I got the office light hung because I had to. I was still in my bathrobe at the time. When I went to get a blouse out of the closet, the sliding door came off its track. It’s wide and heavy, and I have a bad back. It’s sort of in place now, but I’m afraid to touch it. It’s like this all over the house. I’m perfectly willing to pay someone, but finding a reliable handyperson around here is difficult. I have had several. Some were drunk, some were idiots, and some came once to start a job and never returned. Then there’s the guy who hung a door meant for indoor use on my garden shed. In the cold weather it has buckled and swollen to the point I can’t open it. I had to borrow a shovel from my neighbor because all my tools are in there, along with the spare key to the house.

It’s crazy to live in a four-bedroom house alone. I do not want to move into a senior residence like several of my friends have done lately. I just want someone to help me take care of things. Lacking a husband makes it hard, but most women outlive their husbands. I can look back at the women in my family who gutted it out alone. But they all had adult children who helped them, who did everything for them in their very old age. I know, I know, having children is no guarantee they’ll be around to help, but most of the time they are.

The view from my window today is gorgeous. Blue sky behind winter-bare alders and spruce trees. Red deck and railing that I painted myself. A lush green lawn. I love my home. But there’s that door I can’t open. And the kitchen fuse blew for no reason the other night.

I’m a family of one woman and one old dog who follows me around expecting me to take care of everything. Married people who have children soon expand to more and more people. Husband and kids. Grandkids. Great-grandkids. And all of their spouses. So many people. And I’m just one.

The other night in the hot tub—repaired recently at huge cost, and now I wonder if it’s leaking—it occurred to me that if I had had children with my first husband, they would be in their 40s by now, and their children would be in their teens or 20s. There might even be a great-grandchild. If I had had children with Fred, they would be in their mid-30s. And I would not be driving alone to California for Thanksgiving. I’d be spending the holidays with my kids. In a self-pitying fit of depression, I shouted to the world, “I should have had kids! I fucked up!”

And the world said . . . nothing. So I buried myself in work and got over it. If you dwell on these things, you’ll go nuts. The truth is, I didn’t f-up. I never really had the opportunity. End of story.

I should be boosting you up, giving you advice. But this is the 773rd post at the Childless by Marriage blog, and I’m running dry. Please, tell me your stories. Submit a guest post. Share in the comments how you get past those moments when you just can’t stand it, when you might have very logical reasons for being childless, but suddenly none of them make sense. Most of you are much younger than me and are still in the middle of your journey. Tell us about it.

We’ll talk about Thanksgiving next week. Between now and then, you might want to attend Jody Day’s webinar “Reclaiming the Childless Holidays!”  next Saturday. If you can’t attend the live presentation (9 a.m. PST), you can watch the recording later. Register here. https://bit.ly/3wVam9p I signed up.

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Surviving a Childless–and COVID–Halloween

Sue Fagalde Lick Childless Halloween, Childless holidays , , , , , ,

Halloween is a non-event when you live alone with no children around. Or it can be. Amid the Facebook barrage of babies and kids in Halloween costumes, Annie the dog and I will live a normal day. Because Halloween is on Sunday this year, I’ll go to church. I’ll walk the dog. I’ll do laundry. I’ll meet with my poetry group. After dark, I will sit in my living room watching something on Netflix. I’m not even going to bother to turn on the porch light. Nobody comes trick-or-treating out here in the woods. It’s too dark and too dangerous, with no sidewalks and wild animals lurking among the trees. In normal years, the few families with kids take them elsewhere to trick-or-treat.

Thanks to COVID, a lot won’t be going anywhere. Some will attend “trunk or treat” drive-through events or gather at local churches. But kids will still be wearing costumes and still expecting candy, even if it all comes from their parents. My neighbors have their Halloween graveyard display set up, many have pumpkins on their porches, and I’ve got orange lights in my window. But we’re not expecting little kids to come knocking on our doors.

Years ago, I asked him about Halloween when he was a kid growing up on a ranch in California back in the 1920s and ‘30s. Did he go trick-or-treating? No, he said. He never did. The houses were spread too far. There were no street lights. Did he have a costume? Nope. The most that happened at his house was that his father might carve a pumpkin. Jack-o-Lantern, he called it. I suspect his mother used the insides to make pies. You couldn’t just throw out food during the Depression.

It was different when my brother and I were growing up. We couldn’t wait to put on our costumes and go up and down the street filling our bags with candy while Mom handed out candy at our house. We knew almost everyone in the houses and all the kids on the street. It was like a big party. I can still taste the green suckers and the Three Musketeers bars.

Times have changed. Now we have COVID. Now people worry about giving kids too much sugar. Now people worry about needles in apples and drugs in cookies. They worry about someone hurting their children. And some of us are alone.

In his last few years, my dad sat in his living room watching TV with the lights off as Halloween went on without him. It was too difficult for him to get up and answer the door. His own children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren lived far away, so he would never see them in their costumes. Unlike most people, he didn’t own a computer or a smart phone to view photos on social media. Mostly he worried about hooligans damaging his lawn or his house.

I was visiting my father in California on his last Halloween at home. I bought candy, put it in a bowl by the door and handed it out to the kids who came. Dad got a kick out of their costumes.

But my father died two years ago, the house was sold and subsequently torn down, and I’m alone in Oregon. Halloween is a hard holiday. I enjoy the fun of costumes, kids, and candy. But not being a mother or grandmother, I’m not part of that world. That’s a mom world, you know?

I could put on my mask and join in somewhere. A friend who is the same age and also widowed posted a Facebook photo of herself in costume with her tiny piano students, also in costume. They all seemed so happy. She has a grown son, but he doesn’t live around here. She didn’t let that stop her from having a happy Halloween. Like everything else, Halloween is what you make of it. Without kids, I guess we have to try harder.

But no, I’m not putting a costume on my dog.

How is Halloween for you this year? Any plans? Any kids around? Does it make you feel your childlessness more than usual?

CNN–and everybody else–has ideas for a COVID-safe Halloween. Kind of takes the fun out of it when you have to carry a bottle of hand sanitizer if you happen to touch something or someone, doesn’t it? Here’s the link to the CNN story on the subject.

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Childless or not, Easter comes again

Sue Fagalde Lick childless Easter, Childless holidays, coronavirus, Easter without children, Uncategorized , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Dear friends,

How do I make this blog relevant in these days when we’re all thinking about the coronavirus, COVID-19, and its effects on our health, our finances, and our whole lives? I mean John Prine died yesterday, they’re running out of places to put the bodies in New York, millions of people have suddenly lost their jobs, and we’re running around wearing masks. It’s a strange world. When I look around my community, it seems that the Rapture (all the good people taken up to heaven) has happened and we were left behind with no jobs, a massive recession, and constant fear that we or someone we love will catch this disease from a friend, off our groceries, or in the wind and die. How on earth can we even think about childlessness and whether or not to have a baby?

At least that’s how I feel—and that’s on the good days when I’m not so depressed I think about drinking my way through the liquor cabinet. (I’m not. There’s green tea in my cup.)

But it’s Easter. For Christians, this is Holy Week, celebrating the events leading up to Jesus’s death and resurrection. For Jews, today is Passover, when God saved his people from death. For all of us, it’s spring, the sun finally coming out, tulips and daffodils blooming, buds on trees and shrubs promising flowers and fruit. In spite of all the craziness, spring is still happening.

Spring is a time of fertility, of birth and rebirth. Easter is a time of families celebrating together. Last year, I watched my cousins’ kids hunt for Easter eggs as we gathered in the sun for a barbecue at my aunt’s house. There were at least 25 people there. This year, we’ll all be separated. We can’t even go to church.

You might see sheltering in place as a blessing for those of us who find family gatherings painful. This year, for once, you can stay home without excuses or guilt and do Easter your way–or ignore it altogether. Will you dye eggs, pig out on candy, put bunny ears on the dog, sip wine on the porch, make love, or watch videos? Will you “Facetime” or Skype with family, including the little ones? Me, I’m planning to attend church online and then have myself a picnic in the back yard. We can do whatever we want. We still have options; they’re just different.

I hope and pray that you and your loved ones are well. Whether you have COVID-19 or something else, it’s a terrible time to be sick, with access to health care so limited and people not allowed to bring anyone with them for support. I read online about a pregnant woman who is terrified to deliver her baby in the midst of this crisis. We’re all kind of scared. Most of us believe we would survive if we got the virus, but what if we don’t?

What is my point today? We all have to survive this time in our own way. When I told my brother it is difficult being alone, he replied that it is also difficult being at home with three grandchildren under age 5. I’m jealous that he and his kids and grandkids are together but grateful I can read and write and sleep in peace. Meanwhile, this is an opportunity to try new ways of being and thinking and doing.

How are you managing this Easter week? How are you feeling about being childless now? Has the COVID-19 affected your relationship with your mate? Has it changed your thoughts about having or not having children?

Please comment. I’m here. We’re all here. You are not alone.

 

 

 

You didn’t give me any grandchildren!

Sue Fagalde Lick childless by marriage, Childless holidays, childlessness means no grandchildren , , , , ,

Merry Christmas! Or if you don’t do Christmas, enjoy whatever you do celebrate. Why am I posting on Christmas? Am I not busy? Well . . . not so much. The bio family is far away. The friend family is busy with their kids and grandkids. I’m having dinner with friends later, but now, I’ve got time.

Are you making yourselves crazy by reading all the posts online about everybody’s family Christmas celebrations? Well, turn it off. Go for a walk. Right after you read this, of course.

For parents and grandparents, Christmas is exhausting and expensive. I visited with a friend the other day who said he had something like 35 kids and grandkids to honor for Christmas. He married into most of them.

My husband’s cousin met her current husband after both of their longtime spouses died. He came with a huge family, too. She was planning to feed 30 of them on Christmas Eve. This morning, she and her husband planned to fly to Denver to visit her one daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughter. I’m tired just thinking about it.

I’m not complaining about getting to stay home and cook only for me while the family celebrates far away and the friends do their own family thing. Sounds selfish, but it’s true. But maybe, if I had kids and grandkids . . .

I see all those pictures of my friends cuddling their little ones, I see all the great things in the stores that I could buy for my grandchildren, and I imagine all the family events that won’t be happening—Christmas, First Communion, graduation, weddings, babies–and I feel a little ripped off. Annie the dog and I are good, but imagine how much fuller our lives could be.

I was reading an article about “grandchildlessness.” That’s such a long word. How about NonGrammas and NonGramps? Here’s the link. The author is writing about Australia, but one could tell a similar story almost anywhere these days. All of us who are not having children are also not giving our parents grandchildren. Our parents don’t have much control over that.

If we’re lucky, our siblings fill the gap. If not, well, think about how lousy we feel when people start hauling out the baby pictures. When you get to be my age, it’s the grandbaby pictures. You can counter with pictures of nieces, nephews and cousins, but we all know it’s not the same.

How do we help our parents to understand and accept what’s so hard for us to understand and accept? My parents kept quiet on the subject. They had my brother’s kids, and they knew being childless was a source of pain for me. My second husband’s mother said she had so many grandchildren from her three boys already that she had no need for more.

If I had stayed married to my first husband and remained childless, I can imagine it would have been different. His mother really wanted grandchildren. She was all about her Catholic-raised kids following the standard program. She had already bought a few baby things in the hope of prodding us into parenthood. I do not believe she would ever have a found a way to let it go if we said, “Nope, not having kids.” In fact, she might have nagged us enough that my ex would have given in. But if he only agreed to have children because everyone was ragging on him about it, what good would that be? She never had any grandchildren. That makes me sad. But it’s a trend, and it’s growing.

Has anyone nagged you to make grandbabies? How do you feel about not giving your parents grandchildren? Are they bugging you about it this Christmas?

How are your holidays going? Are you with the stepchildren or your bio family or on your own? Is it a happy day or a fighting-tears kind of day? Feel free to share in the comments.

Merry Christmas, hugs to all of you. See you next year!

 

 

Here comes Thanksgiving again–and pie!

Sue Fagalde Lick childless at Thanksgiving, Childless holidays, fires in California, Uncategorized , , , , , , , , ,

Thanksgiving is almost here again. Do you dread it? Me too, probably for different reasons. I’ll be in California, taking care of my dad and driving him three hours each way to my brother’s house, where I will be surrounded by in-laws I barely know and oodles and boodles of kids. I’ll be the odd widowed sister/aunt hanging with her father while the men watch football and the women gather in the kitchen.

I’m sure you have heard about the fires blazing in California. Horrible. Whichever route I take from Oregon, I’ll be driving through smoke and devastation. I feel a little guilty for everything I still have, and I feel that I have no right to whine about anything, so I won’t. Instead, I’m going to be grateful. I urge you to do the same.

I know how hard it is being surrounded by children and their parents who don’t understand why you aren’t parents, too, who don’t get that it’s a painful subject which may be far from resolved. You’re likely to hear clueless comments about how you’re rich because you don’t have kids or how you’d better get pregnant soon because you’re not getting any younger. You may be dealing with stepchildren who don’t seem to enjoy your company.

And don’t get me started on the TV commercials with all those happy families.

I urge you to read the comment that came in recently from the woman who worries about finding a man who will understand that she can’t give them children because pregnancy makes her horribly sick. You think you’ve got troubles?

No matter what our situation, we do have things to be thankful for, such as:

  • The people we love
  • Our homes and everything in them
  • Our health, if we have it
  • Food
  • Clean water
  • Heat
  • Our beloved pets
  • Our work
  • Our hobbies
  • Books, art, music
  • God, if you believe
  • Each other
  • A chance to start fresh every morning

We don’t have everything we want. Nobody does. But think about the people of Paradise, California. They have lost their homes and their whole town. At last count, 50 people had died, some of them incinerated in their cars while they were trying to get away. In Southern California, others are going through the same thing. They have a right to mourn this Thanksgiving.

We have an obligation to help however we can and to celebrate the lives we still have. If you’re surrounded by babies, grab the nearest one and marvel at the miracle of this tiny person with her tiny toes and her toothless smile. Maybe you’ll have one of your own, maybe not, but this baby is here right now, grabbing onto your finger, snuggling against your chest. Enjoy.

I know. Easier to say than to do. If you need to take a time out, do it. Run away to nature, take a walk around the neighborhood, or excuse yourself for an emergency shopping trip. Don’t we always need more wine? Then take a deep breath, count the hours till it’s over, go back in, and pet the nearest dog.

And if you happen to be alone, put on your favorite clothes, treat yourself to a good meal, watch a movie, and enjoy the peace and quiet.

I am always grateful for you who read this blog. I might miss you next week while I’m in the land of no wi-fi, gorging on pumpkin pie, but I’ll be reading your comments. Can you add to the gratitude list? How about pie? I’m extremely grateful for pie.

Happy Thanksgiving.

P.S. We can do more than be grateful. We can help. Here’s some information on how to help the fire victims.