Pondering childless lives
Something rather frightening dawned on me in the past few days. It has been sitting at the back of my mind, not really brought into full consciousness, but in the last two days it came out.
You see, two of my favorite pastimes are doing genealogical research on my and J's families, and collecting antiques (okay, wine is in the top 3 but since I can't drink right now, we'll just gloss right over that one). I have always envisioned that one of the reasons I spent months doing this research was so that I would have something substantial to leave to my children when I died. I am an adoptee and I spent years tracking down my birth father. I spent entire weekends in the library basement at UC Irvine, pouring over telephone books on microfiche, looking for anyone who might be my father. I swore throughout all of this that my children would know everything about their families that I could humanly give to them. I didn't want my child(ren) to even have to wonder where they came from.
But now that I'm at the point in my life where I don't know if I will ever be graced with a child of my own, now this is all suddenly thrown into question.
Why have I been doing this research?
If I adopt, the child won't care a hoot about mine or J's respective heritages.
Why have I been accumulating "things", like the car and my antiques, and attempting to accumulate wealth?
If we don't have children at all, the last thing we want are things that will hold us down and keep us from traveling and doing the things that we love.
It was an awakening moment. Realizing that some of the things that I love to do, I've done with this idea of leaving them for my children.
But what if there aren't any children?
What then?
I hadn't pondered this question until two days ago. And it cut through my psyche like a red hot knife slicing through fresh meringue. I remember stopping what I was doing. My jaw might have even dropped.
My collection of French antiques.
My silver.
My jewelry.
My bank accounts.
My old Mercedes.
The house.
The house in France that we're considering.
WHO WERE THESE THINGS ALL GOING TO?
My next thought was,
These thoughts were coming out in a panic. I was looking at everything that was important to me and suddenly seeing my motivations a bit differently. I also noticed I'd quickly swung the pendulum from one side to the other - something I've always seen as psychologically unstable. From "accumulate" to "get rid of", in one quick thought. But then reason eventually started to kick in. We'd still need a house to live in. And even in old age we might do a reverse mortgage in order to live on should our retirements turn out as bad as we predict them to be.
But the idea of not having a son or a daughter to leave my life's collection of possessions was an eye opener.
I've read that infertile women who finally make the decision to not be parents, to live childless, often find that their lives change in profound and dramatic ways. They start new businesses, travel more, start painting, do things completely unforseen to others, and sometimes even to themselves. It is almost as if they've put off doing things until that time that they were parents and the decision to be childless is a pivotal anchor in shifting their life's direction. It's not to say that I think people put off living until that time that they've had their children, or maybe even until that time that their children leave the nest. But I think it's perhaps that they find newfound vigor for living after a deep disappointment of not being able to be parents. Are they filling the void with "things"? I don't know.
I wonder what J and I will do differently with our lives should we make the decision to be childless?
You see, two of my favorite pastimes are doing genealogical research on my and J's families, and collecting antiques (okay, wine is in the top 3 but since I can't drink right now, we'll just gloss right over that one). I have always envisioned that one of the reasons I spent months doing this research was so that I would have something substantial to leave to my children when I died. I am an adoptee and I spent years tracking down my birth father. I spent entire weekends in the library basement at UC Irvine, pouring over telephone books on microfiche, looking for anyone who might be my father. I swore throughout all of this that my children would know everything about their families that I could humanly give to them. I didn't want my child(ren) to even have to wonder where they came from.
But now that I'm at the point in my life where I don't know if I will ever be graced with a child of my own, now this is all suddenly thrown into question.
Why have I been doing this research?
If I adopt, the child won't care a hoot about mine or J's respective heritages.
Why have I been accumulating "things", like the car and my antiques, and attempting to accumulate wealth?
If we don't have children at all, the last thing we want are things that will hold us down and keep us from traveling and doing the things that we love.
It was an awakening moment. Realizing that some of the things that I love to do, I've done with this idea of leaving them for my children.
But what if there aren't any children?
What then?
I hadn't pondered this question until two days ago. And it cut through my psyche like a red hot knife slicing through fresh meringue. I remember stopping what I was doing. My jaw might have even dropped.
My collection of French antiques.
My silver.
My jewelry.
My bank accounts.
My old Mercedes.
The house.
The house in France that we're considering.
WHO WERE THESE THINGS ALL GOING TO?
My next thought was,
"Well hell. If we don't have children, why the hell should we hold onto all of these things? Things hold us back. They need maintaining. They need to be moved when we move. Things will keep us from living if we're childless. If we got rid of all tangible things, our lives would be freer. Why should I work my ass off selling houses to save money for the future? What am I saving for anyways?"
These thoughts were coming out in a panic. I was looking at everything that was important to me and suddenly seeing my motivations a bit differently. I also noticed I'd quickly swung the pendulum from one side to the other - something I've always seen as psychologically unstable. From "accumulate" to "get rid of", in one quick thought. But then reason eventually started to kick in. We'd still need a house to live in. And even in old age we might do a reverse mortgage in order to live on should our retirements turn out as bad as we predict them to be.
But the idea of not having a son or a daughter to leave my life's collection of possessions was an eye opener.
I've read that infertile women who finally make the decision to not be parents, to live childless, often find that their lives change in profound and dramatic ways. They start new businesses, travel more, start painting, do things completely unforseen to others, and sometimes even to themselves. It is almost as if they've put off doing things until that time that they were parents and the decision to be childless is a pivotal anchor in shifting their life's direction. It's not to say that I think people put off living until that time that they've had their children, or maybe even until that time that their children leave the nest. But I think it's perhaps that they find newfound vigor for living after a deep disappointment of not being able to be parents. Are they filling the void with "things"? I don't know.
I wonder what J and I will do differently with our lives should we make the decision to be childless?
Labels: IVF2
posted by linda at 9:55 PM
Comments on "Pondering childless lives"
-
Coloratura said ... (6:11 AM) :
-
Donna said ... (3:46 PM) :
post a commentThis is one of the most interesting posts on infertility I think I've ever read. And a big black hole I've only allowed myself to tip toe around.
But my sudden urge to write a screenplay, or get a band together and really try to pursue the singing I've always dreamed of doing... I have wondered more than once if I am preparing myself for the void somehow. So that I won't be shattered. This brings up feelings that we'll have to discuss over lunch some time: I often wonder if it's just my mother's message of 'do not have children, whatever you do' fulfilling itself.
Or is it just that as potential motherhood approaches, we find ourselves wondering how much of ourselves we will give up? Will we lose ourselves, as our mothers did, to motherhood? Maybe the catalogue of your 'things' is something you should never let go of, unless you really want to. They are a reflection of who you are, what you value and how you've created yourself.
You wrote in your post that if you have an adopted child s/he wouldn't care a hoot... I don't think that is at all true. That child will love you because you of all people allowed that child into your life with intimacy second only to that which we share with our life partners. And some would argue it's the other way around... the child would have to be a psychopath to not care a hoot about you or J, and with you two as parents, I highly doubt that's who you would bring up.
You are like me, always peeking behind that curtain... but you have so many chances before you will have to really face these questions. Stay positive and hopeful until thing have been proven otherwise... although I know how hard that can be.
So sorry for the babbling comment, I have major insomnia tonight... :)
I too am the family historian, nobody else cares one bit about any of it. I always knew that one way or another, I would be the one to break the cycle of abuse and addiction; I just didn't know it would be by remaining childless. Even if the information you've gathered doesn't relate to a child of yours, they will still care, because they will want to know how you and your husband came to be the people you are.
I never wanted children until I met D. He never wanted another child after losing his son so many years ago, so for years we were happily together without a thought of the future. Then we got married and all of a sudden I decided I wanted to have a baby. It took D two years before he could wrap his brain around the notion and agreed to try. Three years later we've run the fertility course and came out with nothing, but we are not back in the same place we were before. I'm not sure where we are...all the knowledge and emotions we've been through have changed us. I haven't been able to embrace my "freedom" and start anything new as yet, but I hope one day I will get there.