childlessness means no grandchildren

Once Again, They Assume Everyone has Children

Sue Fagalde Lick alone in old age, alone without children, childless and alone, childlessness means no grandchildren, hurting during the holidays, legacy , , , , , , ,
Black cat with gold eyes sitting in a flowerpot among purple flowers that might be lavender. Background is blurred, shades of tan and green.

The workshop leader was talking about reasons to publish a poetry book. First on her list: It’s something to show your grandchildren.

Once again, it was assumed we all have or will have grandchildren. Not me. Maybe not you. The only one I have had around to show anything lately was a cat.

I was collecting my trash a few days ago when a black Persian cat came out of the woods and seemed to want to be my friend. As he swished back and forth across my legs, I gave him the tour: This is my garage. This is my car. This is my back yard. He said, “Meow” and kept following me.

The cat was beautiful, but I’m allergic, and he was too healthy to not be someone’s pet, so I didn’t let him into the house even though I was dying for someone to talk to, someone who could see my home and appreciate everything in it, including my books.

It can get lonely out here. People always assume we have kids if we’re a certain age. They also assume those kids will be around all the time, which is not true for many families. Just like everyone assumes we’ll be right-handed and some of us, like me, are not.

When this poet I admire said that at the workshop, did I pop in and say, “Hey some of us don’t have grandchildren?” No. She wasn’t taking comments or questions at that point, and it was not related to what we were talking about. She didn’t mean to offend. She offered other reasons to write a book, including having something to say and wanting to share it, maybe wanting to help, entertain, or inform. You don’t need children or grandchildren for any of that. In fact, I would bet most writers’ families aren’t that interested in their books. I know that’s true of mine. Some of them don’t even know I write.

But there are a lot of things besides books we might want to share with our children and grandchildren: family history and photographs, art, crafts, recipes, our religious faith, our vision of right and wrong, our favorite music, or movies we love. So many things.

We can work or volunteer with kids, reach out to other children in the family or among our friends. We can do all the stuff well-meaning people suggest, but it is not the same, at least not for me.

As always, I have questions:

  • What should we do in a situation where someone assumes we all have children? Should we speak up and make a “thing” of it or let it go? Take them aside later and say, “You know, I don’t have children or grandchildren? What is the best way to handle this?
  • What would you like to show your grandchildren if you could? Is there someone else you can share it with instead?
  • Met any great cats lately?

Photo by Katarzyna Modrzejewska on Pexels.com

***

I hope you had a peaceful Thanksgiving. I ended up with friends from church whom I didn’t know well and several other people I didn’t know at all, but we had a good time. They all had grown children but were not with them on that day for various reasons. They mentioned them briefly but didn’t dwell on it. The subject of my childlessness never came up. We talked about other things. How about you? Was it a day of gritting teeth or lots of fun?

***

The Childless Collective Summit starts Saturday. All online, it offers four days of workshops, talks, and information for those who don’t have children. Attendance is FREE, although you can purchase a pass to watch the recordings at your leisure. Click here for information.

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Airplane Journey Raises Thoughts of Children I Never Had

Sue Fagalde Lick childlessness means no grandchildren, traveling alone , , , , ,

When the women with the wailing baby paused at Row 29 and waited for me to rise from my aisle seat to let them in, one would think my first thought would be horror. I already hated flying. I had already noticed these were the narrowest airplane seats I had ever seen. And now I had to sit with a screaming infant? 

Then again, it was better than sitting with the two very large, very rude men who had been near me in the waiting area. 

My seatmates were skinny young red-haired Spanish-speaking women, mother and aunt, and the baby. Once they were seated, the baby hushed and was an angel the rest of the flight. He slept most of the time. When awake, he cooed and smiled as Mama and Tia gave him lots of love. What was not to love? From his chubby cheeks to his tiny toes, this baby was adorable. 

Did I ache to have one of my own? Not really? Nor did I want to be one of the many parents I saw wrangling small children. Between the multiple boarding passes, multiple backpacks, toys, snacks, and the kids themselves, they were clearly overwhelmed. Some of those kids, although cute, would not be quiet. One little girl standing in the aisle of the plane insisted on showing everyone her pink backpack. She must have said “backpack” a hundred times. 

Yeah, I was too old and tired for that. I had gotten up at 4:30 a.m. Pacific time to catch my flight from Portland to Dallas to Columbus, Ohio for a poetry convention. By the time I’d gotten on the plane, I had already sworn off flying, and then the flight was delayed for an hour while they checked out a problem with the air-conditioning system. So I was not ready for squeaky-voiced kids with no filter. But that baby and mama sleeping cheek to cheek was a work of art. 

On my second flight, I shared my row with a little girl about 6 years old and her “abuela,” grandmother. They didn’t speak English either. They spoke quietly to each other and slept a lot. It was fine, even if Abuela did hog the armrest.

What really got to me was departing and arriving alone. While other passengers had people waiting for them, I landed in Columbus after dark so exhausted I wanted to weep and with no idea how I would get to the convention hotel. I would have given anything for a grown person to step up at that point, wrap me in a big hug, and say, “Hi Grandma, let me take your bags.” That’s what killed me, not having anyone call me “Abuela” and welcome me. Alone, I lifted my heavy bags, joined the crowd outside and took a taxi. I’m past the mother-of-small-children stage in life and ready for the benevolent grandmother stage, but you can’t have one without the other. Sometimes that hurts a lot.

At home in an area loaded with retired people, I rarely see small children, but go to an airport in the summer, and you will see lots and lots of families and good and bad examples of what we might be missing. 

Are you traveling this summer? Seeing lots of kids? How are you coping with that? Are you questioning your situation and your decisions about children? Or relieved to be on your own? I welcome your comments. 

***

If I’m going to get Covid, this would be the time. The airports were packed, the planes were 100 percent full, people were close together, unmasked, and no one asked about anyone’s vaccination status. That’s a little scary. 


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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!

 

 

Sunday brunch with the grandmas

Sue Fagalde Lick childlessness means no grandchildren, grandma club, poem by Sue Fagalde Lick, poems about childlessness, Uncategorized , , , , , , , , ,

Dear friends: I’m sharing a poem today. Perhaps you know the feeling, when you’re surrounded by friends sharing pictures of their children or grandchildren and you don’t have much to contribute. To the women with whom I shared this meal, I had a good time, really. I love you both, your grandkids are adorable, and I hope to do it again soon. Just  . . . well, it’s a little different for those of us who don’t have kids.

At Georgie’s on Sunday after church,
my friends, both grandmothers,
shared photos on their phones
while I ate my eggs Benedict,
nodding and cooing words of praise
for little Raegan and Jaxon
and Jackson with a K and Dylan
and Damon and Madison.

“They’re getting big so fast.”
“He’s such a handsome boy.”
But I couldn’t quite melt the way
real women who’ve had babies do,
that catch in the voice, that
“Isn’t she precious? Oh my Gosh.
Look at those itty bitty hands”
as they remember another baby’s fingers
touching their breasts as they nursed
or squeezing their daddy’s giant thumb.

My eggs were cooked just right,
not too runny, the hollandaise
creamy around the ham, so thick
I scooped it up with my fork.
I was tempted to lick the plate.
Out the west-facing windows,
the winter ocean thrashed,
all white froth and gray
one shade darker than the sky.

A grandma flipping through her phone:
“Did you see my grandson’s fiancée?”
“No,” said the other. “Oh, she’s beautiful.
Would you look at that gorgeous ring.”
My plate was empty now, but they
had barely touched their food,
feasting instead on grandmother pride.
I sucked the ice left in my glass.
When our waitress brought our separate checks,
they finally put their phones away
to eat blueberry pancakes and sausages.

“So Sue, how’s your dad?” a grandma asked.
“Doing really well at 95.”
And that was all I had to say.
My phone is full of dogs and trees.
I could have shared my baby niece
if my phone weren’t sitting in the car,
but I have to admit it’s not the same,
this stranger who lives so far away,
whose pictures I save from Facebook posts,
but you have to offer what you’ve got
when you’re sharing a booth in Grandma Land.

 

Ever feel grandparent envy?

Sue Fagalde Lick Barbara Gordon, childlessness means no grandchildren, grandparent envy, stages of life

If you think menopause might bring relief from your yearning for children and your envy of those who have them, think again. As Barbara Gordon writes in this Huffington Post piece titled “Grandparents: An Unexpected Envy,” we may make peace with not having children, but not having grandchildren is another kind of loss. Many of my friends are enjoying grandchildren these days. They leave town for frequent visits and show off the latest pictures on their cellphones and on Facebook. Their lives are all about the kids while mine is about work and the dog.
Not having grandchildren is having an odd effect on me these days. I can’t seem to understand my age. Maybe I’m crazy (probably), but without children and grandchildren to mark the generations, I feel stuck in a perpetual young adulthood. Now, that probably seems like a good thing, but my wrinkles and memories tell me I can’t be a kid forever. I don’t even want to; been there, done that. If I try to hang out with the young folks, they see me as an old grandma person. People my own age want to talk about their grandchildren and their travel adventures.

We’ve fallen off the life-cycle track. You’re a child, a teen, a young adult, a mom, a grandmother, an old lady. At each stage, younger generations take your place. For those of us who never have kids, it doesn’t work that way.

Sunday, we had a Baptism at church. The world’s cutest little boy, all dressed in white satin, received the water and blessings to join the Catholic church. His parents and godparents were attractive couples who seemed to be in their 20s. Sitting with the choir, I imagined what it would be like to stand up there holding a baby. Then I realized I would be the graying mom taking pictures. In reality, I’m neither. It’s confusing.

Am I nuts? Have you ever felt like you’ve lost your place in the generations by not having children? One of the women I quoted in my book said she no longer knew which table to sit at during holiday dinners because she didn’t have kids. Not a kid, can’t sit with the moms . . .

It’s something to think about.