I spent the weekend with family, including some young male relatives who are in their 30s and not yet married. One just ended a long relationship because his girlfriend wanted a commitment to eventually getting married. He said he was too busy building his career and resented her pushing him.
The other, almost 40, has been with the same woman for many years, but apparently they aren't going to get married until/unless he figures out what he wants to be when he grows up. Another young man at the party, mid-30s, has also kept himself uncommitted. When I look around the family, most of the men in their late 20s and early to late 30s have not yet committed to either a relationship or parenthood.
Now, I don't want to see anyone rush into a bad marriage just to be married, but I feel for the women who love them and would like to have children with them. The men say they want kids, but not anytime in the foreseeable future. They bristle when their women push for a commitment, but our eggs don't last forever. I fear that many couples in their childbearing years will end up without ever having children even though they wanted them. Being childless by mutual agreement is fine, but this kind of childlessness by delay makes me nuts.
Have you seen this happening among the people you know? As a woman old enough to be a grandmother, I want to shake these guys sometimes and tell them to grow up.
I'd love to hear your comments.
P.S. I've been on the road for almost a week and it's brutally hot here. I'm tired and cranky, but I mean what I say.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
Childless widow is not helpless
I just finished reading a book called Widow to Widow by the late Genevieve Davis Ginsburg, M.S., who traded her therapy practice to lead Widowed to Widowed, a Tucson support group for widows. Overall, it’s an easy read, often comforting and informative, but this book was published in 1995,and times have changed.
Ginsburg portrays most of us new widows as helpless housewives. So not true. She also assumes that we have children. She goes on and on about dealing with the kids’ attempts to help “Mom”, effectively communicating your needs, and easing each other through your shared grief.
She does note in one brief passage that not everyone has children. She writes, “Too often women are made to feel that widowhood would be less painful had they had children. One of the first questions widows ask each other on first meeting is, 'Do you have children?' Then 'How many?' and 'Where do they live?'—as though their blessings can be counted by those answers.” In the next paragraph she tells how parents often go on to complain about the things their children do or don’t do. And finally, she says, children can be an important link in a widow's transition to singleness but not the only one. Ultimately she has to find her own way.
If we have stepchildren, as I do, there’s no guarantee they’ll be around. So far, now that the services are over, they’re not. Would adult biological children of my own be calling every day to check on me, or would they be buried in their own grief and the demands of their own lives? I’ll never know.
If Fred and I had kids together, they might still be teenagers living at home. That would change the picture completely because I’d have to behave like a mom at a time when I might not feel like it. So many unknowns. Does it matter? What is, is. I share my house with my dog Annie, and neither one of us is helpless. We’re sad sometimes but perfectly capable of figuring out the rest of our lives without a husband and without children--if we have to.
Side note to young women considering marrying men who don't want children: Consider what it might be like years from now if he dies and you find yourself back where you started, only older. Is he worth it? Can you live with it? Something to think about.
Ginsburg portrays most of us new widows as helpless housewives. So not true. She also assumes that we have children. She goes on and on about dealing with the kids’ attempts to help “Mom”, effectively communicating your needs, and easing each other through your shared grief.
She does note in one brief passage that not everyone has children. She writes, “Too often women are made to feel that widowhood would be less painful had they had children. One of the first questions widows ask each other on first meeting is, 'Do you have children?' Then 'How many?' and 'Where do they live?'—as though their blessings can be counted by those answers.” In the next paragraph she tells how parents often go on to complain about the things their children do or don’t do. And finally, she says, children can be an important link in a widow's transition to singleness but not the only one. Ultimately she has to find her own way.
If we have stepchildren, as I do, there’s no guarantee they’ll be around. So far, now that the services are over, they’re not. Would adult biological children of my own be calling every day to check on me, or would they be buried in their own grief and the demands of their own lives? I’ll never know.
If Fred and I had kids together, they might still be teenagers living at home. That would change the picture completely because I’d have to behave like a mom at a time when I might not feel like it. So many unknowns. Does it matter? What is, is. I share my house with my dog Annie, and neither one of us is helpless. We’re sad sometimes but perfectly capable of figuring out the rest of our lives without a husband and without children--if we have to.
Side note to young women considering marrying men who don't want children: Consider what it might be like years from now if he dies and you find yourself back where you started, only older. Is he worth it? Can you live with it? Something to think about.
Monday, June 6, 2011
What am I to my stepchildren now that my husband has died?
You marry the man who doesn’t want to have children with you; he already has children from a previous marriage. Sometimes his children live with you; sometimes you have partial custody or visitation, but they are definitely part of your life now.
Maybe it’s a close and wonderful relationship in which the word “step” disappears. Or maybe it’s a mess, and you can barely be in the same room with each other. For most of us, it’s somewhere in-between. You inevitably connect because you have their father in common. They grow up, they marry, they have children, and you become a step-parent-in-law and step-grandmother. Again, you may be close or distant, but there is a connection.
Then the worst happens, and your husband, their father, dies. Regular readers know that I’m living this reality right now, but let’s stay hypothetical for a minute. Your husband, the link to those children, is gone. You all grieve the loss, but now the question arises and sits out there like a hippopotamus in the front yard. What is your relationship now?
A web search turns up lots of legalities, mostly concerns about custody and inheritance. In both cases, let’s hope you’ve got something in writing. If you and your husband had custody of his children, and somebody wants to take the kids away from you, that’s a big issue that I’m not going to address here. Better find a good attorney.
When it comes to his estate, what happens if his wishes are not stated in his will depends on where you live. In some states, his kids are entitled to half of what he owned, and you get the other half. I don’t know about you, but giving up 50 percent would leave me homeless and bankrupt. In some places, as his spouse, you get it all, but it varies and you should know what the law says. You should also both have wills, even if you're young and healthy.
You should also know that in most states, stepchildren are not your legal heirs. When you die, they will not automatically receive anything from your estate unless you specifically leave it to them in your will.
So, if they’re not your legal heirs, we come back to what is your relationship now? I’m reminded of an aunt by marriage who has been widowed for several years. No one ever considered that she was no longer a member of the family when my uncle died. Of course, her kids are blood relatives . . .
It’s different with stepparents. We don’t share one drop of blood. Our only familial link is our spouse, and when he’s gone, then what? I guess it depends on what kind of relationship you’ve established over the years. If you have developed a close-knit family, you will remain in each other’s lives. If not, you may drift apart. In my case, we’ll see, but I fear it’s going to be the latter.
I’d like to offer some resources, but I find everything for stepparents is either legalities or young stepmothers complaining about their young stepchildren and their evil biological mothers. I’m not finding anything for older spouses with grown stepchildren. I’d love to hear your ideas and suggestions on the subject. And of course, if you’re a childless stepfather, just reverse the genders and the same questions apply to you, too.
Maybe it’s a close and wonderful relationship in which the word “step” disappears. Or maybe it’s a mess, and you can barely be in the same room with each other. For most of us, it’s somewhere in-between. You inevitably connect because you have their father in common. They grow up, they marry, they have children, and you become a step-parent-in-law and step-grandmother. Again, you may be close or distant, but there is a connection.
Then the worst happens, and your husband, their father, dies. Regular readers know that I’m living this reality right now, but let’s stay hypothetical for a minute. Your husband, the link to those children, is gone. You all grieve the loss, but now the question arises and sits out there like a hippopotamus in the front yard. What is your relationship now?
A web search turns up lots of legalities, mostly concerns about custody and inheritance. In both cases, let’s hope you’ve got something in writing. If you and your husband had custody of his children, and somebody wants to take the kids away from you, that’s a big issue that I’m not going to address here. Better find a good attorney.
When it comes to his estate, what happens if his wishes are not stated in his will depends on where you live. In some states, his kids are entitled to half of what he owned, and you get the other half. I don’t know about you, but giving up 50 percent would leave me homeless and bankrupt. In some places, as his spouse, you get it all, but it varies and you should know what the law says. You should also both have wills, even if you're young and healthy.
You should also know that in most states, stepchildren are not your legal heirs. When you die, they will not automatically receive anything from your estate unless you specifically leave it to them in your will.
So, if they’re not your legal heirs, we come back to what is your relationship now? I’m reminded of an aunt by marriage who has been widowed for several years. No one ever considered that she was no longer a member of the family when my uncle died. Of course, her kids are blood relatives . . .
It’s different with stepparents. We don’t share one drop of blood. Our only familial link is our spouse, and when he’s gone, then what? I guess it depends on what kind of relationship you’ve established over the years. If you have developed a close-knit family, you will remain in each other’s lives. If not, you may drift apart. In my case, we’ll see, but I fear it’s going to be the latter.
I’d like to offer some resources, but I find everything for stepparents is either legalities or young stepmothers complaining about their young stepchildren and their evil biological mothers. I’m not finding anything for older spouses with grown stepchildren. I’d love to hear your ideas and suggestions on the subject. And of course, if you’re a childless stepfather, just reverse the genders and the same questions apply to you, too.
Monday, May 30, 2011
I'm a widow?
As you probably know by now, my husband, Fred, passed away April 23 after a long battle with Alzheimer's Disease. It's hard to believe it has already been more than a month. I miss him every day, and if I don't keep my mind busy, I flash back to scenes from our lives together, both good and bad. Much of the time, I'm fine, but at any minute something can trigger my emotions. Grief is like riding waves. Some are small, some are huge, and there are calm places between the waves.
Meanwhile I'm trying to grapple with my new identity as an unmarried woman, a widow. I have a hard time with that term. It feels like there's an implied "pitiful" attached to the word "widow". Know what I mean? In other places and other times, a woman without a husband might be poverty-stricken and homeless, but that's not my situation, thank God. I just miss Fred.
As I reported earlier, his kids were here to help with the memorial service and that first week full of upheaval and out-of-town visitors. That was truly great. Now they have disappeared again. The oldest son got married, and I wasn't there. Too far, too soon. The daughter is back to work, school and loving her kids and grandkids. The youngest, who was supposed to come pick up some of his father's things, didn't show up.
When I went back to the cemetery for the placement of Fred's ashes in the mausoleum, I went alone. Then I sat in a chair stairing at the urn and cried alone. Even if they were my own children, I might have been alone because they don't live here. It's my choice to stay in Oregon. I can't blame them for the distance or for being busy with their own lives.
Meanwhile, I have a wonderful group of friends who feel like a family. Some of them are widowed, too. Others let me join them with their husbands and children for holidays and special events. I think we all need to reach out to other people and bring them into our lives. Young or old, there's no reason we can't love someone, even if they're not officially family.
Will I ever get married again? If so, might I take on a whole new set of stepchildren and stepgrandchildren? Do I want that? I don't know. I don't expect to find anyone as great as Fred was.
Now that the marriage has run to its death-do-us-part end, I ask myself if it was worth sacrificing my chance at motherhood. Probably. Most people don't get a love like we had, and most people don't get to do all the things I have been able to do as a childless woman. But if I had to do it over again, would I insist on having children? Yes, I would.
Peace to you all.
Meanwhile I'm trying to grapple with my new identity as an unmarried woman, a widow. I have a hard time with that term. It feels like there's an implied "pitiful" attached to the word "widow". Know what I mean? In other places and other times, a woman without a husband might be poverty-stricken and homeless, but that's not my situation, thank God. I just miss Fred.
As I reported earlier, his kids were here to help with the memorial service and that first week full of upheaval and out-of-town visitors. That was truly great. Now they have disappeared again. The oldest son got married, and I wasn't there. Too far, too soon. The daughter is back to work, school and loving her kids and grandkids. The youngest, who was supposed to come pick up some of his father's things, didn't show up.
When I went back to the cemetery for the placement of Fred's ashes in the mausoleum, I went alone. Then I sat in a chair stairing at the urn and cried alone. Even if they were my own children, I might have been alone because they don't live here. It's my choice to stay in Oregon. I can't blame them for the distance or for being busy with their own lives.
Meanwhile, I have a wonderful group of friends who feel like a family. Some of them are widowed, too. Others let me join them with their husbands and children for holidays and special events. I think we all need to reach out to other people and bring them into our lives. Young or old, there's no reason we can't love someone, even if they're not officially family.
Will I ever get married again? If so, might I take on a whole new set of stepchildren and stepgrandchildren? Do I want that? I don't know. I don't expect to find anyone as great as Fred was.
Now that the marriage has run to its death-do-us-part end, I ask myself if it was worth sacrificing my chance at motherhood. Probably. Most people don't get a love like we had, and most people don't get to do all the things I have been able to do as a childless woman. But if I had to do it over again, would I insist on having children? Yes, I would.
Peace to you all.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Lost in the Land of Kids and Mommies
I taught a writing workshop last night at the local intermediate school and found myself in a foreign country. Having never had children, I didn't spend my younger years taking my kids to school and attending school events. I've done a few interviews at school, but even those were a long time ago. It felt strange from the get-go. For one thing, I was old enough to the mother of all the adults present. When did that happen?
When I arrived, the doors were locked. Even during the day, they're locked for fear of dangerous strangers. When I was growing up in California, our schools couldn't be locked. The halls were all outdoors, but this place is like a prison, all indoors with very few windows.
A knock on the door got me in. Immediately a loud-voiced woman who looked too young to be a mom or a teacher started yelling that I had to sign in. Another young woman announced that she was the assistant superintendent of the school district and demanded to know whether I was a teacher or a parent. Uh, writer.
They brought me recycled paper, and we used recycled napkins to eat boxed pizza that could only be served by someone with gloves and a food handler's license. What happened to moms bringing cookies and punch?
Attendance was poor; apparently last night was a big night for school concerts and sporting events, none of which I knew about. Luckily I didn't pick the date, and someone else will have to recycle the leftover pizza and handouts.
As I began my talk, I realized the kids were barely paying attention and many of the words I used were probably too sophisticated, especially for the younger siblings who came along with their parents. I don't know what kids know at various ages these days, and I haven't developed that way of relating to children that some people, parents, seem to have.
I'm grateful that when I asked them to write, they did. A couple got so into it that they didn't want to stop, and they were happy to read their stories out loud when they finished. The event was a success because they did write.
But all night, I felt as if I was speaking in a foreign language, the language of someone who doesn't know how to act around children and their parents.
When I arrived, the doors were locked. Even during the day, they're locked for fear of dangerous strangers. When I was growing up in California, our schools couldn't be locked. The halls were all outdoors, but this place is like a prison, all indoors with very few windows.
A knock on the door got me in. Immediately a loud-voiced woman who looked too young to be a mom or a teacher started yelling that I had to sign in. Another young woman announced that she was the assistant superintendent of the school district and demanded to know whether I was a teacher or a parent. Uh, writer.
They brought me recycled paper, and we used recycled napkins to eat boxed pizza that could only be served by someone with gloves and a food handler's license. What happened to moms bringing cookies and punch?
Attendance was poor; apparently last night was a big night for school concerts and sporting events, none of which I knew about. Luckily I didn't pick the date, and someone else will have to recycle the leftover pizza and handouts.
As I began my talk, I realized the kids were barely paying attention and many of the words I used were probably too sophisticated, especially for the younger siblings who came along with their parents. I don't know what kids know at various ages these days, and I haven't developed that way of relating to children that some people, parents, seem to have.
I'm grateful that when I asked them to write, they did. A couple got so into it that they didn't want to stop, and they were happy to read their stories out loud when they finished. The event was a success because they did write.
But all night, I felt as if I was speaking in a foreign language, the language of someone who doesn't know how to act around children and their parents.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Sometimes Stepchildren are All Right
When I married Fred, he had three children from his first marriage. The youngest was 8 and the other two were teenagers. As with most of us, I had no idea what I was getting into. I could not imagine that the daughter would get pregnant and married at 17, that the youngest son would live with us from age 11 to 20, or that long periods of time would pass with no communication between us and Fred's kids. Ours was not just a geographical separation but an emotional separation as well. Fred was not a hands-on dad, and I didn't feel confident leaping over him to cozy up to the three kids. We were cordial enough, but it certainly wasn't like I imagine having our own would be.
Whatever separation we have had over the last 26 years, they rallied last month when their father died. Michael, the youngest at 34, came bearing food. He was here to help me, he said, and he did. So did his sister, Gretchen, 42, who drove nonstop from California. Ted, the oldest, couldn't get away from work, but he sent a eulogy and was here in spirit.
Gretchen brought her mom. We are lucky that we have always gotten along well. I know that is not the norm, but it was kind of wonderful bringing together the whole picture of Fred's adult life, each of us sharing the parts that we lived with him. As Gretchen put it at the funeral, "Mom" had the first half of his life, and "Sue" had the second.
We stayed up late drinking wine, going through photos to create a display for the service, and telling stories about Fred. My father and brother also came up from California and it really did feel like one happy family. In death, Fred brought us all together, and I felt the barriers between us dissolve.
Will I see them again now that Fred is gone? I think I will. It took a lot of years but we are finally a family.
If your stepchildren are giving you nothing but grief, hang in there. They will grow up, and you will always have one big thing in common: You all love the same person.
Whatever separation we have had over the last 26 years, they rallied last month when their father died. Michael, the youngest at 34, came bearing food. He was here to help me, he said, and he did. So did his sister, Gretchen, 42, who drove nonstop from California. Ted, the oldest, couldn't get away from work, but he sent a eulogy and was here in spirit.
Gretchen brought her mom. We are lucky that we have always gotten along well. I know that is not the norm, but it was kind of wonderful bringing together the whole picture of Fred's adult life, each of us sharing the parts that we lived with him. As Gretchen put it at the funeral, "Mom" had the first half of his life, and "Sue" had the second.
We stayed up late drinking wine, going through photos to create a display for the service, and telling stories about Fred. My father and brother also came up from California and it really did feel like one happy family. In death, Fred brought us all together, and I felt the barriers between us dissolve.
Will I see them again now that Fred is gone? I think I will. It took a lot of years but we are finally a family.
If your stepchildren are giving you nothing but grief, hang in there. They will grow up, and you will always have one big thing in common: You all love the same person.
Surviving Mother's Day
Dear childless friends, the Mother's Day assault is on. In the course of three minutes of channel surfing the morning shows, I came across gifts for "Mom," a Mother's Day breakfast cooking demo, and two TV show hostesses wishing each other "Happy Mother's Day." It's enough to drive a childless woman nuts, especially if she didn't exactly choose to be childless. Do I hear an AMEN?
I jotted down a few suggestions for surviving this holiday.
* Either avoid the television until after Mother's Day or record the shows you want to watch and skip the commercials. Or, watch DVDs until it's over.
* Instead of dwelling on your own lack of children, honor the women who are mothers in your life--your mother, grandmothers, sisters, friends and others. By taking the attention off yourself, you may be able to put a positive spin on Mother's Day.
* Buy yourself a gift. You know you deserve it.
* If you have stepchildren, don't expect them to show up bearing gifts. They're busy with their real mother and probably won't even think about you. Don't take it personally.
* Avoid restaurants and mom-oriented events. Get away from it all by going hiking, to the gym, to a movie, to the dog park, or something else where the emphasis is not on moms and their children. I'm attending a poetry conference this weekend.
Here's another suggestion, and this is important. If you really feel that your life will be ruined if you never have kids and that your partner will never understand, perhaps it's time to think about giving him an ultimatum: If we can't conceive or adopt a child together, I'm out of here. Do it while you still have time. For me, I think Fred was worth the sacrifice, but that's not always the case.
Overall, try not to feel sorry for yourself. If necessary, duck and cover until it's over. Happy, um, Monday.
I'd love to hear your suggestions.
I jotted down a few suggestions for surviving this holiday.
* Either avoid the television until after Mother's Day or record the shows you want to watch and skip the commercials. Or, watch DVDs until it's over.
* Instead of dwelling on your own lack of children, honor the women who are mothers in your life--your mother, grandmothers, sisters, friends and others. By taking the attention off yourself, you may be able to put a positive spin on Mother's Day.
* Buy yourself a gift. You know you deserve it.
* If you have stepchildren, don't expect them to show up bearing gifts. They're busy with their real mother and probably won't even think about you. Don't take it personally.
* Avoid restaurants and mom-oriented events. Get away from it all by going hiking, to the gym, to a movie, to the dog park, or something else where the emphasis is not on moms and their children. I'm attending a poetry conference this weekend.
Here's another suggestion, and this is important. If you really feel that your life will be ruined if you never have kids and that your partner will never understand, perhaps it's time to think about giving him an ultimatum: If we can't conceive or adopt a child together, I'm out of here. Do it while you still have time. For me, I think Fred was worth the sacrifice, but that's not always the case.
Overall, try not to feel sorry for yourself. If necessary, duck and cover until it's over. Happy, um, Monday.
I'd love to hear your suggestions.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)