childless

I Forgot How Childlessness Felt When I was Young

Sue Fagalde Lick Uncategorized , , , ,

How will you feel about your childless journey 15 or 20 or 30 years from now? 

I’m finding out as I reread my Childless by Marriage book for the first time in years. I’m preparing an audio version. As I listen for mispronunciations, I feel like I’m hearing these stories for the first time.  

It’s not my voice. It’s a computerized voice but one that sounds like it could be me or my mom. She’s good. I listen, mesmerized, as this woman tells of the early years of my marriage, my angst over not having a baby, and my relationships with my stepchildren. 

This book came out in 2012, but I started researching and making notes in 1989, which was a very long time ago. I have changed. The world has changed.

Was there really a time when I thought and acted like a mom, when my youngest stepson, Michael, was a huge part of my life? How could I have forgotten?

How could I forget when my mother and I both had “grandbabies” at the same time? 

Did I really share so many personal and sometimes traumatic moments–My multiple experiments with birth control, having sex in the bathroom while the family watched a movie, sobbing at a women’s retreat because I would never be a mother, listening in horror as my stepdaughter told my husband he was a terrible father–I shared all that? 

Thank God my parents never read Childless by Marriage. The book is not just my story. I interviewed many childless women and did tons of research in the days when you could not find it all online. Chapters include information on infertility, birth control, vasectomies, the childfree movement, pets as child substitutes, losing friends when they become parents, and the physical and emotional effects of never having children. But I had forgotten how much of my own story was in there. It reads like a memoir in essays. 

I was still in the process of transitioning from newspaper reporting to writing creative nonfiction in those days. I hired an editor to look at the book. She said she wanted more of my story and less research. So, I changed it. Some of the stories are also included in my newest book, No Way Out of This: Loving a Partner with Alzheimer’s. I duplicated myself. I guess that’s okay. The words are different, and it came from a different time in my life. 

I was so young, still in my 30s, when I started researching childlessness. I was still having periods and still hoping that somehow I would have children. I was also trying hard to develop a motherly relationship with my husband’s kids.

As I reread this book, I miss them. I want to call each of them, hug them, and claim a place in their lives, but we have had no real contact since their father died 14 years ago. Michael visited once so I could show him where Fred was buried. Gretchen is a Facebook friend. Ted . . . nothing.

Ted, Fred’s oldest, was livid when he read the first ebook edition of Childless by Marriage. He threatened to sue if I didn’t take out the things I had written about him. I took them out. Considering what I said about Michael and Gretchen, it’s a wonder all three of them didn’t sue. I didn’t write it to hurt anyone, just to share how it is when you’re a childless stepmother, but not everyone sees it that way.

The kids are 46, 56, and 59 now. Gretchen is a grandmother. I will never see her grandchildren. I feel the loss. For a while, I was a mom of sorts. Does that mean I’m not childless? Well, the stepchildren stepped away. I never gave birth to my own kids. There is no child out there with my eyes and the name I gave him or her. No one calls me “Mom.”  

It’s not a sad book. Portions are funny, and most of it is upbeat. We learn there are many ways to mother and to nurture. I mothered my staff at the newspaper I edited. I mothered my students and the singers in the church choir. I mother my dogs, my plants, and l even mother the spider I capture in a cup and carry out to the lawn. I create books from a thought or a word and turn them into something lasting that I can share with the world. That’s not nothing. 

I know this is unusual post. Eighteen years into this blog, I’m running dry. I have moved on to writing about the issues of aging and living alone (see my Substack, “Can I Do It Alone?”) I have published many other books since Childless by Marriage came out.

I’m 73, widowed and live in an aging community where everyone has cats and dogs, but we don’t see a lot of babies. My friends’ grandchildren and great-grandchildren live elsewhere, so they’re not in my face.

When I see families having fun together, I still feel sad. I read about grown men and women taking care of their elderly parents and worry about who will do that for me. I daydream about having a family like other women my age. But I’m mostly caught up in the day-to-day of life here and now. 

My Childless by Marriage book, the one I honestly thought would make me famous (ha!) is good. I’m relieved. When a writer rereads her old writing, sometimes she shudders at what she let get into print. But no, I think it’s relevant and well-done, as beautiful as that six-foot tall, brown-eyed son I might have had, the one who might have called to take me out to lunch on this sunny spring day. 

One of the early books on childlessness, it is still the only one I know of that focuses on being childless because your partner can’t or won’t give you children. Well, except for my other book, Love or Children: When You Can’t Have Both. That one is a best-of-the-blog compilation; you might want to read that, too. 

Why am I telling you all this? Not to sell books (well, okay, if you want to buy one, I won’t mind), but to share how our views of things change over the years. You walk around saying, “I’m not a mom” when in fact you are mothering your husband’s kids or your students or your fur babies. You remember crying in the closest but forget how you also were free to travel the world, go to shows, eat at fancy restaurants, and make love in the living room. You look at some of the choices you made that led to being childless and think: Why didn’t I try harder? Why did I give in so easily to a life without babies? 

You wonder: Why am I not still a size 12?

I have been blogging here at childlessbymarriage.com since 2007. This is my 893rd post. I’m going for 900. Somebody do the math: At least 800 words times 900 equals . . . Oh my God. I had hoped to get to 1,000 posts, but my well has run dry. I have aged out of this gig. I won’t leave you altogether. We have seven more posts to go. I plan to redesign my Childless by Marriage website and keep you up to date on childless events, books, articles, and other things I might want to share. I will maintain my resource list. I will also continue my Childless by Marriage Facebook page. But it’s time. 

I expect to be finished with the audio book by June 1. I’m obsessed, so it’s going quickly. Page after page, this book reveals new things to me. I hope Childless by Marriage is a revelation to you, too, whether you already read it years ago or are hearing about it for the first time. 

Thank you for being here. Your comments are welcome and treasured. 

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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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Will You Ever Find Peace with Your Childlessness? 

Sue Fagalde Lick "get over it", accepting a life without children., childless grief, infertility, menopause for childless women, regret, regret not having children , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Facing a future with no children used to drive me crazy. Back when I was fertile and married to a man who was not, I cried a lot, mostly where he couldn’t see me. I resented my friends whose lives revolved around their kids. I did not want to hear their happy stories or look at their pictures. Baby showers? What do I know about babies? Count me out.

As far as I knew, there was nothing wrong with my baby-making parts, but they were being wasted, evidenced by painful periods every month, reminders I was running out of time. 

Now I’m 72, childless and widowed. Although being alone can be difficult, I have to tell you that I don’t think about childlessness all the time anymore. If you are in your 20s, 30s, or early 40s, feeling bad because you wanted children and might never have even one baby, know that it does get easier. Like any loss, it doesn’t go away, but you do learn to live with it. 

Yes, you will feel breakthrough grief and anger. You’ll see a family at play or hold someone else’s baby and think I could have had that, but as you get older, it will become a less important feature in your life. You will wonder who will care for you in old age, but know that even if you had children, they might not be available to help.

When you’re surrounded by people getting married and having babies, you feel excluded, jealous, and angry at whatever keeps you from having the children you always wanted. Or you resent the people who keep pushing you to have the children you never wanted. You’ll regret it, they warn. What if they’re right? It can be a brutal time. 

The night before my 40th birthday, I had a meltdown that I describe in my Childless by Marriage book. At a Catholic women’s retreat, everyone was talking about their kids. Our guided meditation put me face to face with what I had lost, and it felt unbearable. As the women running the retreat held me, I sobbed in front of everyone. I felt broken. It didn’t help that I really wanted a drink, and there was no alcohol around.

But as I approached menopause, so many other things took my attention. My writing career was taking off. I was performing music almost every weekend. I earned my long-delayed master’s degree. We moved from San Jose, California to Oregon and experienced a very different life in a small coastal town.

My mother died, my husband was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, and my father needed lots of help before he passed away. You hear about the “sandwich generation,” about people caught between caring for their children and caring for their parents. Without children, we can be open-faced sandwiches, helping our older relatives without neglecting our children. 

By my 50s, people stopped bugging me about having kids, and my friends were free to do non-kid activities again. Yes, the grandchildren came, but that was an off and on thing. We could still be friends.

Do I wish I was a grandmother? Sometimes. but childlessness is not at the front of my mind anymore. I took a different path, and it’s too late to turn back.

With every choice, you lose the chance to pursue the other option. By moving to Oregon, we lost the chance to grow old in San Jose, closer to family and so many resources that don’t exist here. If I had married someone else or not married at all, my story would be different. You choose one road and let the other one go.

I can torture myself by imagining what it would be like to have children, how they would look, what we would do together, how I would hold my grandbabies in my arms. But my life didn’t go that way, and I suspect that’s how it was meant to be. 

Not having children has given me the gift of great gobs of time that mothers don’t always have. Time and freedom. I don’t have to find a babysitter or take a kid with me if I decide I want to go to lunch, take a walk on the beach, or spend the night elsewhere. I just go. 

Would I trade my freedom for a walk on the beach with my son or daughter, maybe with their children splashing in the surf or building sandcastles? In a heartbeat. But that’s not on the menu for me. And I’m 80 percent okay with it.  

Maybe you’re at that age when becoming a parent would still be possible under other current circumstances and you’re driving yourself crazy trying to decide what to do: Leave your partner in the hope of finding someone who will give you kids? Try IVF? Hire a surrogate? Adopt? You may fight with your partner over it and cry a lot.

I know how bad it hurts. I’m saying that later it will be easier. Childlessness will not be the center of your life, and that makes room for other things, wonderful things. 

That’s not nothing.

How about you? Are you going crazy over being childless? Do you regret the choices that led you to be without children? Did you have a choice? Do you think you will ever be okay with it? Or are you fine with it now? Have you found peace with your situation? How?

I’m great-grandmother old. Tell me how it is for you at whatever age you are.

I welcome your comments.

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If you enjoy this blog, you may want to visit my Substack, Can I Do It Alone?

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Accepting a Childless Life Should Not Be a Crime

Sue Fagalde Lick childlessness, husband can't have kids, my wife can't have children, nosy questions, partners who can't give you children , , , , , , , , , , , ,

It’s illegal now in Russia to advocate a childfree life. Anyone who spreads “propaganda against childbearing” can be fined. Any content in films, advertising, media, and other online platforms that shines a favorable light on life without children is prohibited.

Russian President Vladimir Putin signed these provisions into law in November.

Russia is one of many countries where the birthrate has dropped, causing fears that soon there will lots of old people with no young people to care for them or to keep the country going.

Other nations, including the United States, are experiencing the same problem but haven’t done anything as drastic as Russia’s new law. They lay the blame on the childless by choice, but let’s be real. Far more nonparents are childless by circumstance than by choice. We don’t have kids due to infertility, physical or emotional health problems, lack of a willing partner, or lack of the financial means to support a child. We would like to have children but, for whatever reason, we can’t.

Is it wrong that after grieving our loss, we seek to put a positive spin on the situation? Even some of the posts I have written here suggesting ways to enjoy life without children might be illegal under Russia’s new law. Would it be a crime to name the many highly successful people who never had kids?

Thank God we don’t live in Russia.

And yet, we can detect the same attitude in our own countries, can’t we?

Remember U.S. Vice-President-elect J.D. Vance and his comments about how “childless cat ladies” don’t have a stake in the country’s future?

Entrepreneur/Trump advisor Elon Musk recently wrote on Twitter in regard to dropping birth rates: “Instead of teaching fear of pregnancy, we should teach fear of childlessness.” He suggested the low fertility rates stem from a cultural hostility toward pregnancy and child-rearing. “We need to stop scaring women that having a kid destroys your life.”

Well, let’s put some context on that last bit. When I was young, yes, our parents told us the worst thing that could happen, short of dying, was to get pregnant outside of marriage. It was the sixties, when unwed mothers were still being hidden away and forced to give up their babies for adoption. And yes, having a baby when you’re young, with no education and no husband, can throw a monkey wrench into your plans, but that’s not what Musk is talking about. He’s buying into the common myth that all of us without children are simply selfish.

This attitude isn’t new. Churches, families, friends, co-workers, and clueless strangers have been after us forever with questions about why we don’t have kids and when we’re going to get with the program. They imply that we’re immature and thinking only of ourselves, defying God’s will and depriving our parents of grandchildren. And now, we’re also unbalancing the population. Most of us feel bad enough without all this guilt and misunderstanding.

Birthrates are falling around the world, and many countries, including the U.S., are doing what they can to encourage more babies by offering tax credits, increased parental leave, and better daycare options. That’s all good, but it’s important to acknowledge that some people don’t have a choice and are grieving the loss of the children they might have had. If, like many of us here, we choose childlessness by partnering with people who are unable or unwilling to have babies with us, that should be no one’s business but our own.

Nor should it be a crime to come through the hard decisions and declare that life without children can be happy and fulfilling. Or that we make valuable contributions because we are not busy raising kids. Look at all the famous writers, artists, scientists, and government leaders who never had children.

I sense a growing belief that nonparents have been preaching to the younger generation that kids are a pain and they’re better off without them. That’s not true for most of us, but there’s nothing wrong with letting kids know they have choices, and that parenthood is not required for a good life.

Russia’s reaction is extreme. I don’t expect any other countries to pass similar laws, but the anti-childless attitude is spreading. All we can do is tell our truths and hope people listen.

I hope you are all off to a good start for the new year. Has your childless situation or your feelings about it changed with the coming of 2025? Please share in the comments.

You may also want to take a look at my Substack, “Can I Do It Alone?” which explores how those of us without partners or children can live our best lives.

If you feel inspired to write a guest post, please get in touch.

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How Will It Be for the Childless Under President Trump?

Sue Fagalde Lick abortion and childlessness, childfree, childless, childless not by choice , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

It has been a week since the man who said childless cat ladies were miserable and didn’t have a stake in the future of the country and the man who helped shut down abortion access to millions of American women were elected as our incoming vice president and president.

I don’t usually talk politics here, and I will delete comments debating what’s good or bad about Donald Trump or Kamala Harris or dissing me because I voted blue or anyone else for voting red, but I am worried about what this means for all of us.

As Democratic vice-presidential candidate Tim Walz said about abortion, IVF, and other reproductive concerns, “it’s nobody’s damn business.” I agree. It’s between a woman and her partner.

Since the US Supreme Court voted down the national right to abortion in the Dobbs decision in 2022, numerous states have outlawed the procedure, forcing pregnant women to travel long distances or do without the care they needed. As is frequently testified in the liberal press, these are not all women who simply don’t want to have a baby. They are victims of rape or incest or have medical issues that require ending much-desired pregnancies.

While Trump has said he won’t outlaw IVF or birth control, his administration could make it more difficult to access reproductive assistance. It might limit insurance coverage for contraception. Will it be more difficult to get a vasectomy or a hysterectomy? I hope not.

It’s possible we’re crying “the sky is falling” when nothing will actually change from the way it is right now, at least not legally.

But attitudes seem to have changed. We hear more people insisting that those of us without children are defying the laws of God and nature. They don’t understand that most of us didn’t choose not to have children. For many different reasons, the parenting path was not open to us, and it breaks our hearts. To have to defend ourselves on top of that painful loss against people who just don’t get it does not seem fair.

Then again, is that any different than it was before?

I have been watching “The Golden Bachelorette” on TV. The finale was last night. I won’t spoil it for you if you haven’t watched it yet. At last week’s “Men Tell All” episode, every single “bachelor” had his children in the audience. Joan, the 61-year-old bachelorette, is very vocal about her devotion to her children and grandchildren. And that’s great, but I wonder if childless applicants were intentionally screened out of being on the show?

If I were on the “Bachelorette,” I wouldn’t have any offspring in the audience. I probably wouldn’t have anyone. They wouldn’t choose a chubby old writer like me, and I wouldn’t do it anyway, but still, the lack of childless people is noticeable.

We can second-guess the election results. Maybe Harris talked too much about abortion and not enough about the economy. Maybe she just didn’t have enough time after President Biden withdrew from the race. Maybe our country is still not ready for a woman president, especially one who is a stepmother but never gave birth to her own children. Maybe voters just like Trump better. Maybe Americans really do want to go back to a more traditional time. I don’t know.

I don’t want to talk about who voted for what, but I do want to ask: How are you? Are you worried about being childless in this new America? Did your childlessness have anything to do with how you voted? Did the US election spark fights between you and your partner or others close to you? Let’s talk about it, lovingly please.

Photo by Nesrin u00d6ztu00fcrk on Pexels.com–She looks happy!

Further reading:

“People around the world are appalled by Trump’s win, but women have been gripped by a visceral horror” | Rhiannon Lucy Cosslett | The Guardian

“What Trump has said about birth control, and what he could do as president” – Good Morning America

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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.

 

 

 

Beneficiaries? No Easy Answer

Sue Fagalde Lick childless aunts, inheritances, legacy , , , , ,

I’m filling out forms to receive payments from one of my late father’s investments. The man had money in many pockets. I wish he had spent some of it on himself and my mother. It’s too late now, and I know I am blessed to have it. The monthly payments will make up for the job I no longer have. (See previous post) BUT the forms want to know who my beneficiaries are in case I die before the money runs out. What to put in these blanks is obvious for people who have spouses and children. It was easy for my father, but I’m stumped. Can I leave it to my dog?

These are the sorts of things in life that frazzle the childless widow. That and questions like “Why are you saving all this stuff?” and “How many grandchildren do you have?”

It’s the same thing when I have to fill out medical forms listing who to call in case of an emergency. I don’t know. My brother lives too far away to be any immediate help. I list friends who I hope are in town and in good health when I get in trouble. So far, that has worked out.

How I wish I had children whose names and contact information I would know as well as my own to plug into those blank spaces on the forms.

I’m reading a novel that takes place in a Native American community where all of the older women are “aunties,” no matter whether they gave birth or not. I think that is my role, too, at this point. I am going to list my niece and nephew as my beneficiaries. After all, they are my father’s grandchildren as well as my closest younger relatives.

Having some money to give away offers a chance to be creative. Who could I surprise with extra money if I die? Some of my friends could definitely use the cash. But I can’t surprise them. I need their social security numbers for the form, and they might be insulted if I decided to play benefactor. Can I leave it to an institution? Which one? I need to do some research and consider some options that might not be available to parents because, as a childless auntie, I can.

How about you? Are there situations in which your lack of children sends you into a brick wall that parents sail right over?

 

If you’re childless, you will never…

Sue Fagalde Lick childlessness , , , ,

Got your attention with that title, huh? Well, good. At 4 a.m., I started making this list, and I encourage you to continue it in the comments. Before you say it, I will note that some of these can become you WILL via stepchildren, nieces, nephews, friends’ children, jobs and volunteer gigs.

If you don’t have children, you will never . . .

  1. Have to worry about the school schedule (unless you’re a teacher)
  2. Have to find a babysitter in order to go out to dinner, a movie, a party, or a trip around the world. (You might need a dogsitter)
  3. Have to share your cookies with a child.
  4. Add any names to your Christmas card signature.
  5. Have anyone come after you on your family tree.
  6. Show off pictures of your own children on your cell phone or post them on Facebook.
  7. Have grandchildren or great-grandchildren.
  8. Have sons- or daughters-in-law.
  9. Have to worry about paying your children’s college tuition.
  10. Have children to list as your next of kin.
  11. Have to attend Little League or soccer games.
  12. Learn the latest kid songs (unless you work at a preschool)
  13. Be required to hang out in a roomful of sugar-crazed children.
  14. Have to be careful at cussing in your own house.
  15. Have an episiotomy. (Thank God!)
  16. Have to watch cartoons before breakfast.
  17. Share your pregnancy story at a baby shower
  18. Be a full-fledged member of the Mom or Dad Club.
  19. Have someone who looks like you call you Mom or Dad.
  20. Stop answering questions about why you don’t have children.

That’s my list for now. I know you can add some more. And yes, I know you can do all this stuff with other people’s kids or with adopted children, but it’s not the same, is it?

***

This has been an insane week, another one in an insane year. Having my father die would have been enough. But on Tuesday, I was forced to give notice at my job, a job I loved. Our priest has banished half my choir because they dared to hold hands during The Lord’s Prayer. No warning. I can’t live with that. I will be taking my music skills to another church in the area. Meanwhile, today I have learned that my poetry chapbook, Gravel Road Ahead, has been published. Hallelujah. Info here. All of this may have something to do with me being up at 4 a.m., writing with this light-up pen I got from a charity for blind people.

 

Did They Stay Childless Together or Split?

Sue Fagalde Lick husbands who don't want children, relationships, Uncategorized, wives who don't want children , , , , , ,

I have been editing old posts and their accompanying comments. (Please proofread, friends.) I’m dying to know what happened to all of those people whose partners said no to kids and put them into a tizzy of should I go or should I stay? There were so many. Today I was reading some of the 245 comments on a 2013 post titled, “If You Disagree About Children, Is Your Relationship Doomed?”

Anonymous: Hi, … I got engaged six months ago to my on-off partner of three years. We had been all off, and he said he wanted to get married and have kids. He had not said this before so I felt something had clicked for him and us. He was so up for it he even got me to add pregnancy coverage to my health care immediately. I have just turned 42 and we got married a few months ago. Our finances have been tight and we also weren’t getting on great, but I thought kids would be in the mix when we got things sorted. We have just had a chat and my husband has changed his mind about having kids. He says he doesn’t want them anymore, and it is not and will not be open for discussion. I am devastated. I would not have gotten engaged had I realized this truth, as I always have wanted kids and would not have entered into a relationship with someone who wasn’t open to trying. This is very real and raw for me, as it was only a few hours ago. I feel it’s my calling to be a mother.

 My response: Anon July 15, I’m so sorry this happened. I find it amazing how many guys change their minds after the wedding. Have another chat and let him know how hurt you are. I pray you can work this out.

By now, surely the issue is settled one way or another. They broke up or they stayed together. They had a baby or they didn’t.

If you have been in that situation, please tell us what happened. What did you decide to do? Does it feel like the right decision now? It will help those coming behind you to figure out what to do.

I’m relieved to know that I still agree with the advice I gave back then. Also embarrassed that I needed to proofread, too. I hope the typos are all gone now.

***

I leave tomorrow for my father’s funeral. I know that I will be sitting on that front-row pew as a party of one with my brother’s tribe: wife, children, grandchildren, in-laws, with other families nearby. Just me. For years, it has been me and Dad, but he’s the guest of honor this time. Damn.

So there’s that. If you don’t have children now, the loss compounds in the future because you will also not have your children’s partners and children, and your grandchildren’s partners and children, and everyone’s in-laws. The loss just expands. Like an earthquake that starts out small then blows the world apart. They say each higher number on the Richter scale is not just a little bit more but exponentially more (WAY more).

Something to think about.

Thank you all for being here. I treasure you.

 

The sorrow of a childless ultrasound test

Sue Fagalde Lick childless in old age, childlessness, Uncategorized, unmarried and childless , , , , , , ,

Dear friends,

This morning, I’m going to the hospital for an ultrasound test. It’s the same kind of test women look forward to having to see their babies growing in the womb. Oh look, there’s his fingers. I can hear his heartbeat! They go home with a picture to show everyone. Of course sometimes, the test turns tragic, showing no baby or a baby that is deformed or has died. To me that’s worse than never having a baby.

But it’s not that kind of ultrasound. Whatever else might be inside me, there is no baby. The technicians will be seeking the cause of my persistent stomach problems. I’m torn between hoping they find something—finally an answer!—and hoping they don’t. At least I’m pretty sure this will not be the kind where they stick a wand up your vagina. Been there, hated that. Let’s keep it all on the outside, please.

It’s not my first ultrasound, but I’m always a little sad that I’ll never have the one where I see my baby. Not that I’d know what it was. In my experience, it’s all a bunch of fuzzy dots that don’t make any sense to me. When I did this three years ago for basically the same problem, it was a fascinating tour through my parts. There’s your liver, there’s your gall bladder, there’s your kidneys . . .

Anyway. I’ll be going alone. I won’t be anesthetized, so there’s no reason I can’t drive myself. But this morning, hungry from fasting, headachy from lack of caffeine, and a bit scared of what they might find, I wish I had someone to hold my hand. I wish my late husband Fred was still here.

Lately I’ve been getting a taste of what it’s like to be single and childless at 66. I drove myself to the ER when this started with incredible pain one night in December. A friend took me for my colonoscopy/endoscopy three weeks ago. Afterward, I was back to being alone, even though the instructions said to have someone with you for 24 hours. There is no family member nearby to whom it would naturally fall to take care of me.

Would having children solve this? Not really. My friends’ grown children live far away, work full-time and are busy with their own children. Besides, I’m not sure I’d want a grown-up child treating me like an old person and telling me what to do. In fact, I’m sure I don’t want that.

So what am I saying? Having an ultrasound for something other than a baby makes me sad. And build up your support network, whether it be family or friends. No matter how independent you think you are, you’re going to need it.

I’m confident that whatever they find, I’ll be okay. If I can survive my daily speed walks with Annie up and down the hills here, I’m pretty healthy. We both are.

As always, I cherish your comments.