You’d think that if you’d had three pregnancies within four years it wouldn’t be over optimistic to anticipate at least one or two grandchildren by your mid-sixties. At least half of my contemporaries have grandchildren now and looking back my mother was sixty-four and my mother-in-law seventy-four when I gave birth to their first living grandchild. Alas my first baby was stillborn, my daughter cruelly robbed of her life by leukaemia, and my surviving son has complex health issues provoked by the loss of his beloved only sibling. His health problems wouldn’t prevent him from having children but are a turbulent obstacle to a normal life, including secure work, lone travel, driving, basic friendships let alone serious relationships. The chances of Tinder finding a life-long easy going but strong, empathetic woman happy to take on a striking but complex, young man still struggling to become independent, are slim.
Suddenly I have a little inkling of how women may feel if they are unable to have a family of their own, whether it be due to medical issues, age, or merely not meeting the right partner at the right time. My heart bleeds for those who have faced such profound anguish and admiration for those who learn to live with the hollow. Of course, many childless couples are very involved with nieces, nephews and numerous child related activities. Indeed, many organizations will welcome you with open arms and maybe this is what I should be considering.
There is a dull sadness in knowing that the toys our children played with are unlikely to be handled by the next generation. I’m trying to get my head round the fact that I won’t feel the warmth of cuddles with grandchildren, reading at bedtime, making biscuits, playing games, dressing up or having picnics in the park. I won’t experience teaching them how to do a simple jigsaw, how to relieve the pain of a grazed knee, show them a card trick or share stories of my own life. On a practical level I wonder to whom will I leave my gold opal bracelet, my photographs or my sewing machine? I won’t be able to boast about them on Facebook or casually say “no sorry I can’t make that day because I’m baby-sitting”, or ”we are away with the grandchildren.” Being a grandparent, even if occasionally exhausting, has proved to increase longevity and the lower the risk of depression as you age.
However, listen up everyone. Although I watch my friends and family absorb the joys of grandparenthood with some envy, I would hate people to feel restrained in expressing their natural love, pride and delight with their cherished little ones, so no tiptoeing around in my presence please. Oh, and don’t forget it would be my pleasure to join your small people and revisit the frustration of Mousetrap, negotiate a few snakes and ladders or demonstrate my Mr Potato Head skills!
Being a non-grandparent feels like a hushed grief, but I know I’m not alone and in time I hope to come to terms with the silent swings in the park.
