husbands with Alzheimer’s disease

Childless Marriage: Would I Do It Again?

Sue Fagalde Lick husbands who don't want children, husbands with Alzheimer's disease, Love or Children, marriage without children, regret not having children , , , , , ,
Bearded white man petting shiny black Lab dog between green sofa and antique china cabinet. The man is the author's late husband Fred.

A reader wrote to me last week with a tough question. If I had it to do over, would I stay with the husband who wouldn’t/couldn’t make me a mother? She is currently married to a man who has never wanted children and has had a vasectomy to make sure it wouldn’t happen. They are very happy together now. They have a good life without children. But she is worried that she will regret her decision in later years.

I suspect a lot of us worry about that.

My initial response to whether I would do it over again was I don’t know. But after thinking about it for a minute, I said, “Yes, yes I would.” When Fred and I were married beside a pond on a beautiful spring day with all our loved ones nearby, we had no doubts, no worries, just joy. Out of our loneliness, we had found each other. It felt like a gift from God.

As for children, I thought his three would help fill the gap. I was a workaholic anyway, obsessed with my writing and music. Being a part-time mom might be perfect.

We could not know that Fred would suffer and die from Alzheimer’s disease or that his adult kids would pull away once he was gone. We could not know that I would end up alone in the woods in Oregon while most of my family was back in California.

Life is full of unknowns. Couples discover they can’t get pregnant. Or they break up. Or one of them dies. A new job requires a move across the country. You get sick. You win the lottery. Or you lose everything in an investment that goes wrong.

We don’t know what’s going to happen. The friend who fell off the camper step and broke her pelvis last month surely did not expect to spend the rest of her vacation in the hospital. Fred’s first wife had a stroke this year, catapulting the family into a life of caregiving and nursing home visits. We just don’t know.

All we know is what we have right now. Are you happy together? Is life good? Do you want this to last forever, or are you itching to run out the door? Can you love him or her wholeheartedly? Are they enough? All you can do is put your faith in your love, and in God, if you’re a believer.

Will you regret a life without children? The honest answer is yes, sometimes you might. I do. Most days I’m fine, but I hate not having a big family to gather with on the holidays and to help each other year-round. But would I marry Fred again? Yes, I would. I never met anyone else I could love as much as I loved him. Can you say the same?

I so appreciate you being here. Thank you for your emails and comments. Keep them coming. I don’t have all the answers. Together, we can figure it out.

******

You will be able to read much more about me and Fred in my forthcoming memoir, No Way Out of This: Loving a Partner with Alzheimer’s disease, coming out next June from She Writes Press. It tells our love story from beginning to end, including the hard parts and the joyful ones. That’s Fred in the photo with our puppy Chico, who also plays a big part in the book. Stay tuned for more information.

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Sounds like motherhood to me

Sue Fagalde Lick Alzheimer's Disease, childlessness, dog mother, husbands with Alzheimer's disease, other ways to mother, raising puppies


Once upon a time, what seems like a lifetime ago, but actually only 4 1/2 years, I had a husband with Alzheimer’s disease and two 7-week-old puppies named Chico and Annie. This was an insane combination. I have been reading my old journals lately, and I have to tell you, this sounds exactly like someone trying to take care of twin human babies while caring for an older person with dementia. Why did we adopt these dogs? Our old dog had died, and we missed having a dog around the house. Neighbors advertised a litter of Lab-terrier pups, and they were so cute Fred suggested we get two, the black male for him, the tan female for me. It was insane and wonderful at the same time.

My journal entries are all about the pups peeing, chewing, crying and needing to be held and loved and about how Fred needed pretty much the same thing, minus the chewing of furniture and shoes. I’d put one pup in the crate, and the other would pop out. I’d leave them alone for a minute and find them fighting, one pup trapped behind the water heater, her ear bloody. I had the vet’s phone on speed dial. I’d clean up one mess and turn around to see the other dog squatting on the carpet. I bought absorbent pads by the ton and my hands always smelled like urine. If I needed to leave, I had to find someone to care for the dogs or take them with me in the car. Fred couldn’t dog-sit. I’d say, “Put them in the laundry room,” and he would respond, “What’s the laundry room?” It was that bad.
This went on for weeks, then months. I took the dogs to training classes, doing an hour with one, then putting that one back in the car and doing it all again with the other dog. As my husband deteriorated, I had paid caregivers coming in and left them lengthy notes about what needed to be done for both the husband and the dogs. If I couldn’t get a sitter or they didn’t show up, I couldn’t go. I worried every minute until I got home, usually to a disaster of some sort. Although I tried to pretend otherwise, my work suffered. I tried to write when the husband was busy or asleep and the dogs finally conked out at night, but I was always listening for them to get up or cry out. I write about eating a pancake breakfast at church and wanting to cry because finally I could eat in peace and someone actually served my food to me.
It sounds an awful lot like being a mother. So what if I was mothering dogs and a 71-year-old husband? I did everything but give birth and breastfeed. And yes, I had already helped raise my youngest stepson, too. He lived with us from age 11 to 20. I didn’t do motherhood in the normal way, but I feel justified in claiming the title of “mom.”
How about you? Many of us weep over our loss of babies, but are there ways in which you feel you have been a mother, even though you never gave birth?