childless in old age

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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My Childless Story is Not the Same as Yours

Sue Fagalde Lick childless by marriage, childless in old age, childless old age, childless regrets, regrets about marriage , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Photo shows young woman perched on a couch playing guitar and singing. She is wearing red glasses, a red jacket, gray pleated skirt, and red loafers. Behind her is a faded blue and white quilt. Photo is from the early 1980s.

Dear young childless readers, I have a confession to make: the older I get the less I think about not having children. That’s one of the blessings of aging, but it’s making it hard to know what to write about in this blog after nearly 20 years.  

I know many of you are still in the throes of trying to decide what to do. The years are passing, menopause looms, and you worry that if you don’t have a baby, you will regret it forever. Your friends and family are after you to get pregnant. But your partner doesn’t want to, and maybe in your heart you’re not sure you want to either. Or you’ve been trying hard to have a baby and getting nothing but heartbreak. Maybe the decision is made, and you are grieving so hard you don’t know how you’ll survive. 

I remember that feeling, but it’s fading. I see this giant wall rising between me and you and between me and those years in the 1970s, 80s, and early 90s when I was conflicted, furious, and heartbroken. Now, I’m grandmother age. I still wish I had children. I wish I didn’t feel so awkward around other people’s children. I hate that my “family photo” includes just one person while my friends and family fill the frame with their grown children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, and all their spouses.

But that ship sailed so long ago. My fertile years took place before many of you were born. I started having sex in 1974, the year birth control became legal in the U.S. for unmarried women. We didn’t have computers or cell phones. Calculators were high tech then. We listened to vinyl records and heated our food on the stove because we didn’t have microwave ovens. I had to see a doctor to get prescriptions to treat my cramps and yeast infections. You certainly couldn’t purchase condoms off the shelf at Safeway. Now you can buy all that stuff on Amazon. 

Life was so incredibly different, and it was less common for people to decide not to marry or have children. I never considered either option. I fell into the timing hole between the first husband, who was never ready to be a father, and the second one, who already was a dad to three nearly grown children. 

I have told my childless story so many times here that regular readers can probably recite it from memory. It’s time to put it in the cedar chest with my mini-skirts and peasant blouses. It’s time to tell your story.  

In my own life, my focus is on aging and living alone these days. That’s really all I want to write about (see my “Can I Do It Alone?” Substack), but I don’t want to keep giving you the old lady voice. The grandma voice. The one that can only offer hindsight, not what it’s like right now for women stuck in the childless-by-marriage conundrum. It’s even harder to write for the few men who read this blog because I have never been a man. I don’t know what it’s like to be a father or want to be a father. Or NOT to want to.

I’m not quitting. Childless by Marriage will go on. I will keep sharing what I can gather from readers, the media, and those moments when I feel the non-mom grief again. But know that I’m writing from the other side of the wall. I feel like the older woman sitting at Starbucks with a younger woman who has come to her for advice. As if this older woman knows anything but her own story! Which doesn’t change! How did it happen? Bad timing? Do I regret my choices? Did I have a choice? If so, yes, but I’m not sure I did. Would I do it again? No. I shouldn’t have married the first husband for a lot of reasons. Not marrying him would have changed everything that followed.

My advice always boils down to this: If the problem is your partner and you can’t live with it, dump him/her. If the problem is physical, do your best to accept it and move on. If the problem is money, spend less on other things, and have a baby before it’s too late. Have more than one because people need brothers and sisters. 

I keep trying to sneak back into that younger skin to give you worthwhile posts, but I need your help.

  1. Tell me what you want to see here. What bothers you the most? What do you want to talk about? 
  2. Write a guest post or a letter I can post and answer. You can be as anonymous as you would like.
  3. Send me links to resources, news stories, blogs, Substacks, or whatever you find that might spark a new post. 

Help an old lady out, and let’s keep this going. I’d really like to get to 1,000 posts. This is number 874. Together, we can do it.

By the way, World Childless Week is coming around again online next month with a ton of workshops, panel discussions, articles, and videos to enjoy. I will be joining Jody Day’s Childless Elderwomen on Thursday, Sept. 19 for another fireside chat as part of World Childless Week. Our topic is “Friendships Across Life,” particularly what happens when our friends have children and we don’t. Go to https://worldchildlessweek.net to see how you can participate and to register to attend some or all of the events. Most of them are free, although donations are welcome.

Photo is of me around 1983 at my grandparents’ house. Note the spiffy red glasses and permed hair.

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‘You’re so lucky you don’t have kids’–Are we?

Sue Fagalde Lick childless in old age, growing old without children, World Childless Week , , , , , , ,

“You’re so lucky you don’t have kids” is one of the themes for next week’s World Childless Week. On Friday, Sept. 15, the Childless Elderwomen, including me, will discuss old age without children, a topic that scares the heck out of most of us. 

Are we lucky? Let’s be honest. Sometimes we are. We’re not crawling out of bed early to make lunches and drive the kids to daycare or school, spending all our money on children’s clothes and school supplies, or having every attempt at an adult conversation disrupted by a kid who demands our attention. Mom! Mom! Mom! Dad! Dad! I’m bored! 

But we’re also not having a little one snuggle with us and say, “I love you.” We’re not seeing our family traits reproduced in our children. We’re not saying “my son” or “my daughter” with pride.

We’re not worried every minute that our children might be sick, hurt, scared, or in trouble. 

But we’ll never have adult children who worry that WE might be sick, hurt, scared, or in trouble. I know some kids leave the nest and never look back. But there’s a good chance they’ll be around.

Lucky? Yes, I have time to work from dawn to bedtime without interruption. I only have to take care of myself and my dog. But that feels more like a consolation prize. 

We offered our lives to a partner who couldn’t/wouldn’t give us children. If that partner is still with us, they will take care of us, and we will take care of them. But what if they’re gone, or what if we never had a life partner? What if we are what some call an elder orphan? Parents gone, no spouse, no kids.

My brother visited me last week. He has a wife, two kids, and three grandchildren. The chain of people looking out for “Papa” is clear. Not so much for Aunt Sue. We huddled in the den and talked about aging and death. I handed him an envelope with all of my financial information, my wishes if I die, and a draft of my obituary. We talked about wills, powers of attorney, and health care representatives. If I’m suddenly unconscious, who will be legally allowed to take care of things? It needs to be clear and official because my nearest family member lives 700 miles away. 

We talked about who I would leave my money to, about stepchildren and his children and charities I could fund. We talked about setting up a trust. With no obvious heirs, I’m free to do what I want with whatever’s left. Lucky? Maybe.

We talked, too, about who will handle things if he dies first. The possibility breaks my heart, but I may have to pay a professional, someone who doesn’t even know me. 

Enough doom and gloom. But I want you to consider this visual image. A photo of my brother’s family has seven people in it. There will be more as the young ones marry and have their own kids. The photo of my family has just one person: me. 

Lucky? An old Janis Joplin song says, “Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.” 

There are advantages and disadvantages to not having children. I’m heading out of town today. I’m not taking a rambunctious three-year-old. Lucky. No one will ever call me “Mom” or “Grandma.” Not so lucky. 

What do you say when someone says “You’re so lucky not to have kids.” 

Are there words for that? Or do we just stare at them with a look that says, “You have no idea.” 

Join us next Friday for the Childless Elderwomen talk, hosted by Jody Day. It’s at noon Pacific time. The website will help you find your time. Register at https://gateway-women.com/gateway-elderwomen/. Attendees are not visible on the screen, so you can be totally anonymous. 

Visit https://www.worldchildlessweek.net for the full schedule of events. 

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Younger Self Asks: What if I Never Use My Womb?

Sue Fagalde Lick childless by marriage, childless grief, childless in old age, infertility, regret not having children , , , , , ,
The picture shows an open notebook and a woman's hand holding a pen poised over the page. The blurred background appears to be in a wilderness area with lots of fall-color trees.

“I am a woman without children. I’m a fertile woman who can’t have children. It’s more painful than physical inability.”

I’ve been cleaning cupboards. Lots of stuff going into the recycle bin. But these words scrawled on the inside back cover of a yellow notebook from a college European Literature class in 1989 caught my attention. At that time, I was four years into my marriage with Fred. I was 37 years old and making my second attempt at grad school while working as a full-time newspaper reporter. I struggled to take care of home, husband, and my youngest stepson, who had recently moved in with us. It wouldn’t be long before I dropped out of school again because it was too much.

But that note written in tiny cursive where no one else would see it reminds me of how terrible I felt in those days about not having children. All around me, friends and relatives, including my stepdaughter, were having babies. My period every month reminded me that I was not and would never be a mother if I didn’t change my situation ASAP. I was angry and sad and certain that life was NOT FAIR.

Many years later, I have become part of a childless community where most of the people speaking out about it have had fertility problems. They suffered through surgeries, IVF treatments, and miscarriages. They went through hell trying to conceive and bear a child. How can I grieve or complain when I didn’t go through all that? As far as I know, I could have had a baby with no problem—if I had a different husband.

The first husband was never ready, and the second was done with children. He had had a vasectomy and was not going to reverse it. Nor was he willing to adopt. So, no babies for me.

It hurts that I never had a chance to try. Well, there were a couple times without birth control over the years with men who still had sperm, but nothing happened. It’s probably for the best. Those men were scum. But when I imagine lying in bed with a man who says, “Let’s make a baby,” I want to cry.

Yes, I watch too many movies.

People are all too eager to tell me it’s my own damned fault. I should have demanded babies, even if I had to find a different partner. Do I have any right to grieve? If you’re in the same situation, do you?

My former neighbor, a pretty young woman named Brittney, turned up with a newborn the other day. Her third boy. This girl clearly has no problem having babies. Me, I just have an ancient dog who can’t hear and can barely walk.

Not fair? Or just the way life is?

1989 was a long time ago. I’m not 37 anymore. But I feel for that curly-haired woman looking away from her notes about Aristotle’s poetics in literature class, thinking about the babies she was never going to have and writing that tiny heartfelt note.

What do you think? If we accept a life with a partner who can’t or won’t give us children, are we entitled to feel bad about it, as bad as someone who has struggled with infertility? If you left a note to your future self about your childless situation, what would it say?

Photo by ROMAN ODINTSOV on Pexels.com

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Want to Be Seen as Radical? Don’t Have Children

Sue Fagalde Lick alone in old age, childless in old age, childlessness , , , , , , ,

Are you radical?

Sounds like something we used to say back in the 60s and 70s when something was really “cool” or crazy. Radical, man, groovy.

But radical is a real word, and one of its meanings is marked by a considerable departure from the usual or traditional. I think that applies to every one of us who does not have children. By not following the traditional pattern of marriage, motherhood, and grandmotherhood, we are both forced and freed to follow a nontraditional path, to be radical.

This was the subject of our spring solstice gathering of the Nomo Crones childless elderwomen on Zoom last week. These women are definitely radical. Straight, queer, single, married, childless by infertility, illness, partner problems, and sometimes by choice, they had a lot to say. Watch the video. We’re a lot of fun, and I don’t think we’re much like the traditional grandmotherly old ladies you may know.

MC Jody Day has dubbed us “Radical Old Women” or ROW. I like it.

I know I haven’t followed the standard patterns in my own life. A lifelong writer/musician, I never had to give up my vocations for motherhood or wait until my children grew up to begin. I have been writing steadily since elementary school. Now that my husband is gone and I don’t need a traditional job, I often do my writing and music to the exclusion of everything else. I work in my pajamas, and my house is a mess. I make elaborate meals when I’m in the mood or grab whatever’s hanging out in the fridge when I’m not because no one except my dog is depending on me to feed them. I wake up and go to sleep when I feel like it. Of course, the flip side is spending holidays alone and having no family to help when I’m sick or injured, but let’s not think about that today.

I don’t feel my age. I notice the physical changes, but without the milestones mothers experience, I don’t feel old, and I’m far from ready to accept the lives many of my friends in their 70s are living. A neighbor, also widowed and childless, told me recently that she was selling her house and moving to a senior residence. I looked it up. Mt. Angel Towers. It looks like a prison to me.

Another neighbor, age 75, rowdy and refusing to give up anything, agrees with me. No way in hell. If she gets feeble, she’ll hire people to help, but meanwhile, she wants to travel, work in her garden, shop at garage sales every weekend, and make her pot cookies.

A childless musician friend who just turned 80 has declared she’s going to be an “outrageous octogenarian.” She is losing her vision and has some major health challenges, but she refuses to leave her three-story dome home overlooking the beach; if she can’t climb the stairs, she’ll install an elevator. And she will keep playing the piano with a little help from her neighbors and friends.

I don’t live like anyone in my family, at least anyone who is still alive. What am I doing out here alone in the woods? Radical.

My step-grandmother, Grandma Rachel, never had children. Instead, she inherited our gang. She was a terrible housekeeper, dreadful cook. She was big, loud, and opinionated and a menace behind the wheel of a car. She loved to read, write, and paint pictures. The family disapproved, but I adored her. She was my role model, filling my life with books and encouraging me to follow my dreams. She died 32 years ago at age 86, but I treasure her letters and poems. I want to be her kind of radical.

I want to be the old lady with the crazy hats who sits around in jeans and tennis shoes playing guitar and writing poetry, who does yoga and travels cross-country by herself, who is not too old to crawl on the floor with the kids, who will never be old enough for an old folk’s home.

Another definition of radical: tending or disposed to make extreme changes in existing views, habits, conditions or institutions. In other words, we refuse to accept the status quo. One of five women will never have children. We need the parent-people to see us, to accept us, to understand that our radical lives have the same value as theirs. Who knows? Maybe someday parenting will be the radical choice.

What do you think? Want to be radical with me? I welcome your comments.

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Childless, Alone? What’s Your Emergency Plan?

Sue Fagalde Lick childless in old age, living alone, preparing for emergencies , , , , , , , , ,
3d cartoon woman falling from height, illustration isolated on white background

Last Thursday, when I walked out on my deck to take some pictures of the trees in the fog, a rotting board collapsed underneath my foot. My leg went through, and I fell backwards across the edge of the deck onto the wet lawn with my leg still stuck between the boards. I live alone. There were no neighbors within shouting distance, the young ones at work and the older ones too far away to hear me. I had been holding my phone, but it flew out of my hand and onto the grass when I fell. I had no choice but to push myself up and pull my leg out. I’m grateful I had the strength to do that. Maybe all that yoga I have done over the years helped. If I couldn’t push myself out, I don’t know what I would have done.

Thank God the leg was not broken, but it hurt, and I had this weird pain in my back. I told myself I’d go to Urgent Care the next day if it wasn’t better. I had work to do.

I was watching TV that night when I turned slightly and something in my side popped. Uh-oh. A minute later, I sneezed, felt agonizing pain, and couldn’t catch my breath. I have to go to the hospital, I thought. Something is really wrong. Carefully I put on my shoes.

Unlike the time when I drove to the ER at midnight with chest pains, which was stupid, I knew I should not drive myself. I was shaking all over and couldn’t stand up straight. I called a neighbor. She was out of town and so sorry she couldn’t help. Screw it, I thought, and dialed 911. After my first-ever ambulance ride to the hospital, X-rays showed a broken rib and contusions from hip to ankle. All they could really offer was painkillers. Everything will heal in time.

“Do you have anyone to be with you?” the nurse asked as I lay on the hospital bed in my green gown and yellow Covid mask.

“No,” I said, holding back tears.

“Do you have anyone to drive you home?”

“I thought I’d take a taxi,” I said.

She shook her head. “Since Covid, taxis are hard to get around here.” We live in a small town with no Ubers and sparse bus runs. “You’d better try to find a friend or family member to come get you.” She handed me my phone.

I wanted to cry so hard, but I held it in. I had already wept after the fall, and I would do it again, but I had to find a ride. It was midnight. Most people I knew were asleep. I called a church friend who stays up late. It was a bit of drive, but she said she was happy to do it. I waited by the door in a wheelchair. I was so glad to see her.

Then I was alone with my dog again. I couldn’t sleep, my brain reliving the fall, thinking about what could have happened. I couldn’t find a comfortable position in the bed. I’m not a fan of recliner chairs, but I wished I had one. I wished I had someone to bring me my pills. I wondered how I would change the Lidocaine patch over my ribs by myself (turns out it’s not that difficult).

The next couple days brought me a lot of attention as the word spread. Friends brought medicine, dog food, flowers and dinner. They prayed over me and assured me I am not alone, that they care. My family lives too far away to be of any immediate help, but I am blessed with great friends.

Now I’m taking care of myself. Some things are difficult, but I’m managing. The pain has been severe, but it is easing. I am so grateful that this was not the event that would send me out of my independent life and into a nursing home.

If I had children and grandchildren, like most 70-year-olds, one would expect them to rally around, sitting with me at the hospital, giving me rides, picking up my prescriptions, and dealing with my dog, who has problems of her own. But I don’t. Maybe they wouldn’t anyway. But I hope they would.

My handyman has already replaced the rotting boards in my deck and assures me it should be secure for a few more years. After days of fog, the sun is finally shining, and I will sit on my deck later.

And yes, I’m looking into those emergency-alert devices, even though I hate the whole idea of wearing one.

Meanwhile, this incident has shown me that I need a better emergency plan. I need a team of friends who are ready to go if I need help. The people are there. We just need to make it more formal, so I have names and numbers ready for me—and the hospital—if/when this happens again. In return, I will do the same for them.

I’m terrible about asking for help. Yesterday, I bought my own groceries, and I probably should not have done that. It was harder than I expected. If we create a plan, then we can feel comfortable calling on our friends when we need them. I’m going to work on that. Did you know that 27 percent of American households are occupied by people living alone? Some have kids; some don’t. We all need a plan.

Most of you are nowhere near my age, but it’s something to consider in this childless life. If you never have children and your partner is gone—even if they’re just gone for a week or a day—who will you call? How will you manage your own care, especially if you are severely injured or unconscious?

We can do this childless thing, even survive old age alone, but we need to be ready for the unexpected. I certainly never dreamed the deck would break under me. It must have been the weight of that extra chocolate chip cookie I ate the night before.

Ilustration copyright: 3dmask

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Does Not Having Children Make Us Younger Than Our Years?

Sue Fagalde Lick birthday alone, birthdays without children, childless in old age , , , , , , , , , ,

Today is my birthday. I’m 70 years old. OMG, right? What can I possibly share with readers so much younger than I am? But I don’t think or feel as old as that number seems to signify. I know I’m not young. I know I have lived many lives, but in my heart I start fresh every day.

My younger brother talks like he’s minutes from the nursing home and the grave. I adore my brother, but I want to smack him and say, “You’re too young to be so old!” Does he feel older because he has adult children and grandchildren? I have seen this in other parents, too. Are the rumors that childless people are immature true?

When I was researching my Childless by Marriage book, I asked people if they thought not having children made us less mature than parents. The answers varied from “They’re the immature ones” to “I refuse to grow up.” Having children is certainly not the only way to learn the lessons of life. By my age, most of us have experienced caregiving and loss with their parents and other family members. That stuff grows you up in a hurry. The grief of the growing list of losses, including the children we never had, can eat you up if you let it. All we can do is have a good cry and move on.

My childless friends seem more youthful and more active. Why? Is it that we have missed the milestones of graduations, weddings (and divorces), and grandbabies being born? Maybe we have simply had more time to take care of ourselves. Maybe we don’t have anyone to remind us that we’re the older generation and the kids are the new and improved model. What do you think? Does not having children make us less mature?

Another aspect of having a milestone birthday with no children or grandchildren is you may not have any family around to help you celebrate. When my aunt turned 70, her children threw her a huge party. I knew that wouldn’t happen for me this year. Even with kids, COVID might have prevented it. I have spent some sad birthdays alone, and I was determined not to do that this year. I stewed about this a lot, then woke up one day with a plan. 

I went to church this morning, Catholics offering Mass almost every day. I thought it was good to bring God into the celebration. Then I went on a hike on a section of the Oregon Coast Trail that’s known around here as the 804 Trail. It follows a rocky coastline with wild waves and stunning views. The path was muddy and the air was drizzly, but I enjoyed it, happily greeting the people and dogs I passed, feeling strong and free. 

Afterward, I parked by the Alsea River outside Waldport and played my recorder, badly, just because I wanted to. I followed that by having a 2 ½-hour lunch with friends whom I invited to the restaurant of my choice, the Salty Dawg. It’s downhome and friendly, and I like it. The waitress sang happy birthday, a friend gave me flowers, and I pigged out on a Reuben sandwich, fries, and chocolate lava cake. I had so much sugar and caffeine I may never sleep. But it’s my birthday, and I did it my way.

Back at home, I took the dog on a long walk, talked on the phone with family and friends and enjoyed an online poetry reading. You do you, the obnoxious saying goes. I did me. As a childless woman with no one taking over my day, I was free to do that. 

Do I feel 70? No. Well, my knees do, and my hair is graying very quickly now. But otherwise, no, I feel the same as I did at 40, 50, 60, and yesterday. 

Not having offspring to celebrate your special days is both sad and wonderful at the same time. Yes, it would be nice having a daughter bake me a birthday cake, maybe have grandchildren singing to me in their squeaky voices or helping me blow out the candles. But I was able to take charge of my own birthday and do it my way. I choose to be happy about that.

I welcome your comments. Know that I treasure your presence. 

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Childless by Marriage looks ahead to 2022

Sue Fagalde Lick childless by marriage, childless in old age, childless new year, fertility treatments, New Year's resolutions , , , ,

What a year. Fires, floods, tornadoes, Trump fans storming the capital, racial unrest, pulling out of Afghani, new anti-abortion laws, and COVID. Didn’t we all think the pandemic would be over a year ago? At least we have vaccines now, but it’s far from gone. Crazy times. My yard is full of snow–and I live at the beach. Crazy!

Meanwhile, we are still here talking about being childless by marriage. Can you believe this is post number 779? What could possibly be left to talk about? But there’s always more because the fact that we don’t have children colors every aspect of our lives. 

My older friends all seem to be moving away to be near their kids. I can’t do that. If I am suddenly incapacitated, who will be here to talk to the doctors, pay the bills and bring all those little necessities you might need in the hospital or, God forbid, a nursing home? Who will take care of my dog? One of my friends who has a grown son she really can’t count on just keeps saying she needs to keep exercising and eating healthy foods so she can continue to take care of herself. But we both know we need to get some safeguards in place. Make that my resolution for 2022. Make a plan. 

You are probably much younger and in a completely different situation. Are you still trying to figure out whether or not you will have children, whether you dare ask your reluctant partner one more time or seek one more medical intervention? Are you watching your friends become parents and feeling jealous, angry, sad, or left out? What are you going to do? Maybe you need a plan, too. Look at your day-to-day life, just one regular day. Is it good? Would it be okay without children for all the rest of your days or is the thought unbearable? No one should have to make this choice, but that’s how it is.

If your partner is unwilling, the trick is to find out whether this is a firm and forever no or just temporary anxiety about having a baby. Talk about it. Don’t let it fester. And, dear ones, some people will never change their minds. You can accept their decision or move on. 

Speaking of accepting childlessness or moving on, the book Love or Children: When You Can’t Have Both has been out for a year now. It’s a collection of posts from this blog up to 2020. All the subjects are covered, from how one becomes childless by marriage to dealing with snarky comments to facing old age without kids. If you haven’t got your copy, order one, Kindle or paperback, from Amazon or at your favorite bookstore. It’s not very expensive. If you send proof of purchase to me at suelick.bluehydrangea@gmail.com, I will send you a free paperback copy of Childless by Marriage, the book that came first. Free!

New U.S. census results have been published. A couple statistics for you:

  •  In 2021, 34 percent of adults age 15 and over had never been married, up from 23 percent in 1950. Estimated median age for first marriages was 30.4 for men and 28.6 for women, up from ages 23.7 and 20.5 respectively, in 1947. 
  • Of women ages 15 to 50 years old, among married women, 17.5 were childless. Among never married women, 75.8 never had children. That’s a lot of non-moms.

Finally, there’s a great article on the development of fertility treatments, written by the first IVF baby in the United States, in the current issue of the AARP magazine. Borrow a copy from your parents or grandparents or read it online here. First Infant Born Via IVF Turns 40 (aarp.org)

Your comments are not just welcome, but cherished.

May your 2022 be filled with blessings. Happy New Year!

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The Cool Things Childless Women Do

Sue Fagalde Lick Annie the dog, childless in old age, childless women, Uncategorized , , , , , , , ,

Sorry I’m a day late. This is the first morning in two weeks that I haven’t felt horrible. Nope, not COVID-19. Let’s just call it a malfunctioning body part and a bad reaction to new medication. And then last night, after adjusting my prescription, hallelujah, I felt human again. I slept soundly and woke up ready to write. Whew.

What does this have to do with being childless? Nothing really. Even if I had a grown child nearby, he or she couldn’t have helped me—unless one of them was a neurologist. The biggest help was my friends offering advice and sympathy via texts and Facebook and my new doctor being concerned and available by email. Thank you, Dr. G.

Today’s post is a potluck meal, a little lasagna, a little potato salad, some brownies . . .

I’m finding that my friends know me so much better than my family. I suspect it would be the same if I had kids. I’d be “Mom” and “Grandma” to them, not Sue the writer and musician. Or the dog-mom. Annie is getting too heavy for me to lift. Yesterday after a beautiful walk in the woods, I couldn’t get her back into the Honda. We stood in the parking lot and stared at each other. Now what? Yes, a husband or a grown child could have lifted all 75 flailing pounds of her right up in the car, but we figured it out. I gave one more heave-ho, and she was in. Then I drove home and ordered a ramp from Amazon.

Let me tell you about a couple of very special childless women.

I encountered Kate Greene in a new book I was asked to review titled Once Upon a Time I lived on Mars. Science writer Greene, married to a woman and childless, had always wanted to be an astronaut. She came close by joining a simulated Mars mission, living with five others in a geodesic dome on a volcano in Hawaii. They stayed inside, seeing no one else, ate astronaut food, and did science experiments while experiencing what it would be like to be isolated from sunlight, freedom and family for months. It’s fascinating stuff, especially at a time when many of us have been sheltering in place because of the coronavirus. Not having children was one of the things that allowed Green the freedom to do this.

Catherine-RickboneI also want to tell you about Catherine Rickbone, who has just retired at age 74 as director of the Oregon Coast Council for the Arts. She never had children either. She has four college degrees, and worked a variety of jobs, including teaching, marketing and public relations before taking the OCCA job. She’s also a singer and poet. A natural with her booming voice, she has hosted a radio show on the arts for years. Supervising not only local activities at the Performing Arts and Visual Arts centers in Newport but overseeing arts all along the Oregon coast, she has been extremely busy for years, dashing into our writers’ meetings at the last second, out of breath but smiling. I’m hoping she can relax a bit now, but I know she’ll keep busy. As for children, when did she ever have time? Listen to one of her poems here. Read about her here. The article was written by my friend Lori Tobias, a longtime newspaper reporter who is also childless and whose book, Storm Beat, is about to come out and become a best-seller.

I’m telling you those of us without kids can do some cool things.

Thanks for being here. Socially distanced hugs all round.

AT LEAST THE KIDS WON’T BE BOSSING US AROUND

Sue Fagalde Lick childless in old age, childless women in old age, coronavirus, grown children helping, Uncategorized , , , , , ,

“Mom, don’t go out. Get somebody else to buy your groceries. It’s not safe out there with the coronavirus and all. At your age, you’re in the high-risk group. Just wait till I can come and take care of it.” “You did what? Don’t go walking alone! What if you fall and break a hip?” “Are you wearing your alert button?” “You can’t keep living in that house, Mom. I know this nice senior community . . .”

You, being younger, may be the one saying these things. I understand. I have been the child bossing the parent. Well, in my case, more like cajoling, playing “good cop” while my brother was the bossy one. Our father ignored us both until he literally could not move on his own and had to give in. Before that, if you pushed too hard, he’d bite you like a rattlesnake.

He can’t, you can’t, you’re too old, you have to stop driving . . .

What makes people do this? I think we get scared. We see our parents failing and we don’t want to lose them. We also see our responsibilities increasing and want to lighten them.

If I had a grown child—or my late father—watching me as I climbed on a chair to fix the clock the other day, they would have had a stroke. Dad was always sure I’d fall. “I’m fine,” I’d say, but he would remember that one relative who fell off a chair in her kitchen, struck her head, and went blind.

Now, I know that I’m the same aging woman with osteoporosis, arthritis and a raging bout of plantar fasciitis who was using a cane to get around earlier in the day, but I was warmed up now, and who else was going to adjust the damned Mickey Mouse clock my late husband left behind?

When we’re little, we think our parents can do anything. Then we grow up and think we can do everything. One day, we realize we’re all faking it. Then we find ourselves standing on a chair feeling our legs shake as we move the minute hand a little farther down Mickey’s thigh. But we won’t tell our kids because we want to adjust our own clocks. What if the son or daughter doesn’t like the Mickey Mouse clock and thinks we should get rid of it?

That’s if we have a son or daughter, which we don’t. I don’t know about you, but I’m grateful not to have grown children telling me what to do.

I’m rambling while I sit in the sun with a robin on the nearby fence preening his red chest feathers—and maybe taking a break from his own children. I hear another robin singing from the tree across the yard. His mate?

Back to those imaginary children of my own. They would scold me for not putting on suntan lotion and a hat. They’d be right, too. I’m getting burnt, but I wanted to get to the writing. And it’s worth it. Sitting here next to the purple foxglove with the robin nearby and the sun warming me to the marrow feels glorious.

Not having children means enjoying old age without grown offspring telling you what to do. Your friends might nudge you a bit, but they’re just as stubborn as you are and dealing with the same challenges, so unless you have dementia, God forbid, they’ll let you make your own choices. I like this. I know that’s what my father wanted, which is why he lived at home alone for so long, to 96. He got hurt quite often—the paramedics knew him well-—but in between, he could sit in his patio watching his own robins, tending his geraniums and his artichoke plants, and feeling the sun warm his bones. He was still king of his own domain.

The robin is looking toward the tree now. Maybe he’s thinking about checking in. Maybe he’s waiting for me to move so he can go back to pulling worms out of the grass. I will. I’m hot.

So it’s good that we don’t have adult children bossing us around. In these coronavirus days, I hear about more bossy sons and daughters than ever, but most of the time they’re communicating by phone or Facetime so they can’t offer any concrete physical help. That means my parent friends are in the same situation as we childless folks have always been, depending on friends who live nearby.

I don’t want babies these days, except to visit with as Grandma or Great-Grandma. I like my sleep, and I like my antique glass collection, but there are certainly times when I wish I had an adult child or two to help me with things, whether it’s moving furniture or figuring out what to do about the health insurance company denying my claim. The chores pile up, I am constantly behind, and . . . But wait, are my friends’ children really helping with any of that stuff? Not that I can see. They’re busy with their own lives.

It would be nice if I had kids to throw me a birthday party and make me a cake with “Mom” written in gooey frosting. I’d like to know that someone was around to take over when I died. I’d like to look at someone and see my mother’s eyes, my father’s chin, hear my husband’s deep voice . . .

But I don’t want to be bossed around. I fully intend to be one of those stubborn old ladies who watches out for herself as long as she possibly can. And then?

Let’s just watch Mr. Robin pull worms out of my raggedy lawn and listen to Mrs. Robin sing to her chicks.

Your thoughts?

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IMPORTANT NOTICE: As I have mentioned before, I’m putting together a “Best of Childless by Marriage” book from the blog. I am including many of your comments, all anonymous or by first names only. Many of you are better writers than I am. If you have any objection to having those comments in a book, both print and online, please let me know at sufalick@gmail.com, and I will remove them. I don’t want this to be an issue later, so please speak up soon. I am almost finished with the book. Thank you.