Paper Goods

When was the last time you wrote a love letter? Or any letter for that matter? How long has it been since you received a letter – on paper?  Not an email, or a text, or a card…not a thank you note, not an invitation or a postcard, but a real, paper-and-ink handwritten letter?

Letter writing is a rapidly dying art. Many schools no longer teach cursive handwriting.

Sure, typing a few sentences and clicking “Send” is much more efficient and convenient than tracking down a paper and pen, hand writing, hand-erasing, (or whiting-out, or scratching through), and signing. Then you have to fold the paper, find an envelope, stuff it, address it, stamp it, and go all the way to the end of your driveway (at best) or to the local post office to mail it. Why go through all that hassle when you can send your sentiments instantly without leaving your chair, or leaving a paper trail? 

Snail Mail

Granted, email is quick and convenient, but try holding an email in your hands 60 years later, or 30 years after the author has passed away. You could hold a computer generated print-out of the message, but that’s not the same as holding an original document that was handwritten by a loved one. Real letters can be left behind, passed on, reviewed by future generations…. but most electronic mail will never be accessed again after their intended recipient is gone…And perhaps that won’t matter, in most cases, for most people.

As someone who has lost both parents, I am glad that good old-fashioned letters, sent via “snail mail”, were once a primary mode of communication. I’m even a little grateful that my mom was a borderline hoarder. When she passed away and we cleared out her house, we found that she saved virtually every piece of paper she ever received, apparently.

Thanks to those seemingly inconsequential circumstances, we have a personal account of my parents’ younger days together. Their letters are especially valuable since neither of my parents are alive to recount any memories or stories from their courtship and engagement. The 40-50 letters that my dad wrote to my mom while he was stationed in Germany before and after their wedding tell many stories about my parents that I may have never learned.

Not all the sentiments in my parents’ old letters are beautiful and romantic. In fact, certain parts of some of the letters are not easy to read. Several of my dad’s attempts at humor were cringe-worthy. Then again, humor in the 1950s was a bit less edgy (and much less funny) than today’s humor. And then, of course, there were the mushy, lovey-dovey parts of the letters… no one wants to read about their parents’ intense physical desires for one another!  But I suppose it’s comforting to know that my parents were so in love, because my Dad didn’t live long enough for me to witness that much for myself.

A Moment in Time – On Paper

While those old love letters from my dad to my mom are very special, there is one other piece of paper that is even more precious to me personally. It is another letter that my dad wrote to me while I was away at camp one summer, shortly before he passed away in 1982. I love to hold that paper in my hands and know that he held it once too, that he took the time and care to put his thoughts on it, just for me.

I analyze his handwriting, which had changed quite a bit over the years, compared to the love letters he had written, as a young soldier, to my mom, in his sweeping, smooth cursive script. By the time he wrote this note to me at camp, Dad’s lettering now had a distinctive structural, squared architecture. My dad, the engineer, inventor, and frequent drafter of blueprints, wrote to me with swift, cheery, evenly spaced and perfectly drawn block letters. All caps.

No email could ever bring me back to a point in time the way that letter does. The grain of the paper, the weight of it in my hands, the color of the ink, the letterhead from Dad’s company at the top of the page, his signature at the bottom… I have memorized every detail.

Whenever I hold that letter and read it again, even today, I can almost remember how it felt to be a kid again, carefree and not yet jaded by the death of my father, which would soon jolt me out of childhood.

Although it was written more than 30 years ago, that one simple little note can help me to remember what it felt like to have a father.

Regrets of the Dying Inspire Living

“The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, but writes another; and his humblest hour is when he compares the volume with what he vowed to make it.” – J.M. Barrie, The Little Minister

If you were on your death bed right now, looking back on your life, what would you regret most?

Ironically, one of the best ways to prioritize what matters most, and to discover the best way to live your life to the fullest, is to think about dying. We can learn a lot from dying, but by then of course, it’s too late…   

Do you think you won’t have any regrets later in life? Most people do regret something along the way. In fact, many people often have some of the same or similar regrets. In a recent article and book, a hospice care nurse composed a list of the top 5 regrets of the dying. The list is moving in several ways. 

Reading the list of “most common regrets”, and thinking about death, and how short and fragile life is, prompts me to reexamine my own life history, similarly to how I felt after my mom passed away and I found myself parentless. I’m forced to think about what I want to do differently moving forward. What really matters, at the end? How can we live our lives so we don’t have the same regrets when we’ve reached those final days? Even after reading, learning and knowing what the common regrets are among those who’ve gone before us, it can still be challenging to avoid regret. Striving to live a regret-free life challenges you to make tough decisions and then act upon them.

“I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.”  – Bronnie Ware. Top 5 Regrets of the Dying

People think it’s easy, selfish, and simple to follow your dreams and desires in life, to go after what you want and what you know is best for you. But often, getting to where you know you’re supposed to be in life can be much more trying than it is to live complacently. It’s often much easier to go with the flow, and the status quo, to maintain appearances and live by the rules and order of how your life is “supposed” to go, according to….whom?

When reading about the regrets of the dying my thoughts also naturally turn to my mother’s final days… How did she feel as she reflected back upon her 73 years of life? Did she have a lot of regret? And if so, did she have some of these “most common” regrets as she lay in her hospice bed, laboring to take her final breaths?

If my mother’s stormy moods throughout the years were any indication, my guess is that she definitely had regrets, though she never would have admitted them, even as she prepared to leave this world.

I have some ideas as what Mom’s regrets may have been, but it’s just speculation, because again, she would never have admitted to having any regrets.

Mom’s first marriage, to my father, was a long and happy marriage, for the most part I think, but ended too soon when he died suddenly at age 52. Her second marriage was nearly as long as the first, but was an unhappy marriage, and probably didn’t end soon enough.

But from what I can surmise, based on how Mom acted after Dad died, things she said, plus a few things my older siblings have told me about my mom and dad’s relationship, my guess would be that she felt she had taken him for granted. Maybe she didn’t feel she had expressed her love and gratitude to him enough, which is why it was so painful for her that he died so suddenly, before she had a chance to show him and tell him a few last times before he was gone forever.

I don’t agree with my mom’s philosophy on grieving. She always said that the reason people cry when a person dies is not so much because they miss the person… she said that people cry for selfish reasons, because they had regrets, guilt, or unfinished business with the deceased. So she said as she shed thousands of tears over the death of my father. So that’s how I know she definitely felt regret over some aspect of her marriage to my dad, but I’m not sure what the regret was based upon specifically.

My mom remarried a year and a half after my dad passed away. Many friends and people in the community whispered that it was too soon. Perhaps it was. She devoted 20 years of her life to someone with whom she was not happy. Did she regret staying with her second husband all those years?  I’m not sure she would have been happy with anyone else after my father, so I don’t blame my stepfather for her unhappiness. Besides, my mom chose to marry him, and she could have made a different choice. But, after remarrying an old friend rather hastily, she was committed. She would tell you it was a matter of principle, of religious doctrine, and commitment, as her Catholic faith doesn’t recognize divorce. But I can’t help but wonder if it was a matter of fear – a fear of change, a fear of failure, and a fear of judgment by others.

So she pressed on. Did she regret remarrying so soon? Is she glad she invested those 20 years, for whatever her reasons? I’d have asked her this question myself, if I thought she’d have given me an honest answer.

My mother’s situation is one example of how living one’s life to avoid regret, may have proven more difficult than easy. Change is difficult, and choosing not to marry my step-father would have required her to live on her own for the first time in her 50+ year life. So she went with what she thought was the safe choice, I’m sure. Then, once she was married, making a decision and taking action to correct or change her situation would have been much more difficult and challenging than she might have been able to handle, especially after surviving my Dad’s death, widowhood, and all the change and sorrow that goes along with losing a spouse suddenly and relatively young. 

Do my mom’s regrets even matter anymore at this point in time? She has been gone since 2004. I suppose her regrets matter to me for the same reason the nurse’s list of the Top 5 Regrets is of interest to readers – because hopefully we can learn from the mistakes and successes of those who have gone before us, especially those with whom we share life experience and genetic code..

What regrets do you fear most? What regrets are you taking action to avoid? What would you add to the list? And what advice would you give to others to try to live their lives free of regret?

I already have regrets, that cannot be undone. In the summer of 2004 I should have asked my mom about her regrets in life. Even if she would have chosen not to share them with me candidly, at least I could be at peace with the fact that I attempted to learn about them, and to take them to heart for guidance in my own future.

How do you die without feeling regret? Hopefully the way my dad did it was not the only way to do so – he died instantly, so, he had no time to feel regret whatsoever.

Don’t let sudden death be the only way you can die without feeling regret. Start living your life, for you and only for yourself, today.

You’re pretending this isn’t your life. You think it’s going to happen some other time. When you’re dead you’ll realize you were alive now.  – Caryl Churchill, Mad Forest

 

9 Tips to Help Someone Grieving During the Holidays

Do you know a friend or family member who is currently grieving the loss of a loved one as the holiday season approaches? Grieving is never easy, but it can be especially challenging around the holidays. 

Often, friends and family members of those affected by a loss are unsure how to act or what to say to support their grieving loved one during the holidays. You want to help, but how?

For most people, the holiday season is a special time of year marked by celebrations and gatherings with family and friends. For those struggling with the death of a loved one, the holidays may be a difficult time full of painful reminders that emphasize their sense of loss.

Hospice and palliative care medical professionals, who are experienced at helping people deal with grief and loss, offer some suggestions:

1. Be supportive of the way the person chooses to handle the holidays. Everyone grieves and mourns in different ways. Some people may wish to follow traditions; others may choose to avoid customs of the past and do something new. It’s okay to do things differently.
2. Offer to help the person with decorating or holiday baking. Both tasks can be overwhelming for someone who is grieving.
3. Offer to help with holiday shopping. If you are headed to the grocery store or the mall, give your loved one a call to see if he or she needs anything. Share catalogs or online shopping sites that may be helpful.
4. Invite the person to join you or your family during the holidays. You might invite them to join you for a religious service or at a holiday meal where they are a guest. Again, keep in mind that some people may not feel festive enough to attend a party or holiday gathering. If the person doesn’t accept your invitation, don’t take it personally!
5. Ask the person if he or she is interested in volunteering with you during the holidays. Doing something for someone else, such as helping at a soup kitchen or working with children, may help your loved one feel better about the holidays.
6. Donate a gift or money in memory of the person’s loved one. Remind the person that his or her loved one is not forgotten.
7. Never tell someone that he or she should be “over it.”  Instead, give the person hope that, eventually, he or she will enjoy the holidays again.
8. Be willing to listen.  Active listening from friends and family is an important step to helping some cope with grief and heal.
9. Remind the person you are thinking of him or her and the loved one who died. Cards, phone calls and visits are great ways to stay in touch. Today, social media enables you to maintain contact even more easily.

In general, the best way to help those who are grieving during the holidays is to let them know you care and that their loved one is not forgotten. 

Many people are not aware that their community hospice is a valuable resource that can help people who are struggling with grief and loss.

More information about grief or hospice is available from National Hospice and Palliative Care Organization (NHPCO)’s Caring Connections, caringinfo.org/grief.

More:

• Holiday Survival Guide: Marry an Orphan, & Other Tips
• How to Help a Child Who Has Lost a Parent
• Who My Father Was
• Who the Other Me Would Be
• Funereal Fun
• Better Off Dead? Or Better Off Divorced?

Holiday Survival Guide: Marry an Orphan

“Marry an orphan: You’ll never have to spend boring holidays with the in-laws.” — George Carlin

Was George Carlin right about the holidays? You’d have to ask my husband I guess, as he is the one married to an orphan… of sorts. As the eighth parent-less holiday season approaches for me, I can’t help but think about my departed parental unit and how different this time of year would be if one or both of them were still around to share it… especially my Dad, because he loved Christmas, and because it’s been so long since I’ve been able to share a holiday season with him. (about 29 years).

While many people look forward to this time of year as a time to have fun with family, this time of year can be especially difficult for those who are missing one or both parents. For us, ’tis the season…for potential depression, sadness, and feelings of isolation, especially if it’s a more recent loss, but even if it’s been a while.

Whether it’s your first holiday season after losing a parent, or your 31st holiday season without your parent, the holidays can almost always stir up powerful emotions and memories. 

Even after eight years without parents, it still hurts a little every year when the holidays arrive. But over the past few years, some fun traditions have developed to help offset the loss and minimize the huge empty space in the family. 

This is my 29th holiday season without my Dad. I can remember dreading many years of holidays after he passed away. When he was alive, the holidays always included a lot of singing, laughter, toasts, gifts, food, family, games, and fun. It was the idyllic holiday season with the family, that I wished could last all year. 

After Dad was gone, there was not much joy around the holidays. Instead, there was crying, yelling, and anxiety, as my mom tried to cope with the now not-so-festive season as a widow. Dealing with the loss of my dad, Mom’s depression, and a step-family, in addition to missing my dad, made the holidays a very stressful and troubling time of year. Therefore, for years after dad died, I dreaded the holidays, and couldn’t wait for that part of the year to pass.

On one hand, I consider myself very fortunate that I had those early fun holiday years with both parents. I know there are many people who never have any fun holiday times to enjoy. However, it also hurts to think of all those years after Dad died, that I spent just wishing the holidays away.

Those holiday blahs and blues lasted many years for me. I don’t think I enjoyed the holidays for a good ten or more years after my dad passed away. In fact, sometimes, I still instinctively get that feeling as the holidays approach – that pang of dread that tries to force its way into my subconscious around this time of year, as Thanksgiving nears.

But now, thankfully, after years of getting through many parent-less holiday seasons, the sad feelings don’t last long, if they show up at all. The feeling of dread isn’t nearly as pervasive as it once was, now that we have new traditions and other fun things to anticipate and plan each year. It became sort of a habit to dread the holidays, so it took a while to learn not to.

Holidays without parents aren’t all bad – in fact, as the opening quote from George Carlin accurately suggests, there is a certain level of freedom at holiday time without parents. Just ask my husband, who, as the husband of an ‘orphan’ now has the “luxury” of holidays without inlaws, according to Carlin.

Holiday Survival Tips

For me, the key to managing the holidays and being able to enjoy them again began with creating some new traditions, at least some of which also have some connection or foundation from old traditions we carried out with our parents when they were alive.  

 In doing so, our departed parents are remembered, and commemorated, which alows us to feel our parents’ presence in some way. However, we also have new traditions, so that we are not too focused on the past or what is no more. “New traditions” might seem like an oxymoron, but you have to start somewhere, and there is a first time for everything, even a tradition. Many people create new traditions centering around their children. However, for those of us who don’t have kids, creating new traditions can be more challenging.

If you are grieving the more recent loss of a parent, holiday gatherings can be a great diversion, but if you’re not in the right frame of mind to be sociable, then holiday parties can be more of a challenge than enjoyment. It may be tempting to pour out your heart and soul, to share some of your pain, and turn to others for help, support, and encouragement. However, many people are not prepared for such heavy emotions and discussions at holiday gatherings.

If you know someone who has recently lost a parent or loved one, it is helpful to invite them out to parties for the holiday season, but don’t take it personally if the person doesn’t take you up on the offer.

Avoid Being Debbie Downer or Depressing Dan. Know How to Deal with Those Who Are.

The last thing you need if you are experiencing the holidays after a loss is to be around people who are negative influences. Therefore, if you are invited to a holiday gathering where you may be surrounded by people who are difficult to be around on a good day, you may want to choose your holiday social events with care. You also may want to be aware of your emotional state going into an event, and be careful not to be the one who is bringing negative baggage to a party. Bringing everyone else down with you won’t do anything positive for your mental state.

A new book outlines some great tips for both dealing with “Debbie Downers”, and how to avoid becoming a Debbie Downer or Depressing Dan yourself. These tips may be helpful to everyone, even people who haven’t necessarily lost a parent, because they are great ideas for handling other difficult personalities at holiday parties. Below is an excerpt:

Whether you’re the smiley face among frowners, or a bit of a Depressing Dan yourself, there are tricks you can use to keep the table talk from getting lethal, says Paula Renaye, a professional life coach and author of The Hardline Self Help Handbook, (www.hardlineselfhelp.com).

“You can take control simply by thinking about what you choose to say – or not say,” Renaye says. “If you hear yourself criticizing, judging or complaining, you’re part of the problem. Happy, self-respecting people don’t find it necessary to dump on others to make themselves feel good.

“If someone else is the problem, simply don’t give them the ammunition they need,” she says. Instead try these tactics: 

• Do not say anything negative. Period. And no one-downing! One-downing is the opposite of one-upping. It’s the art of coming up with something worse when someone else talks about their problem. No matter what negative thing anyone says, or how much you agree with it or don’t, resist the urge to respond with a negative. Instead ….
• Dodge, distract and detour. Turn things around with a question — a positive one. If you need to, make a “happy list” of questions before you go, so you’ll have some at the ready. And remember, there’s no law that says you have to answer a question just because someone asked it. With negative people, it’s best if you …
• Do not talk about yourself. The only reason negative people care about what you’re up to is because they want something to ridicule, brag or gossip about to make themselves look or feel good. Don’t go there. Whether you just filed bankruptcy or won a Nobel Prize, keep it to yourself. No good can come of it. None. And why do you need to chatter like a chipmunk about yourself anyway? Might want to think on that one, too. Better to find some praise for someone else than to expect someone to praise you.
• Do not share your woes. Even if you’re in a tough place and could really use a shoulder to cry on, don’t start laying your woes on a Negative Nell. Even in a weak moment, when you’ve had a terrible day, talking about it with a negative person is a bad idea. You might get a microsecond of sympathy, but that’s only so they can launch into telling you how much worse they have it. So, no talking about yourself unless you want to be the talk of the party, the family and the town.
• Do your homework and become like Teflon. Think of the times people said things that made you feel bad or made you feel the need to defend or explain yourself. If you want to avoid going down that trail again, start hacking away at the jungle of your own emotions. Get over needing anyone’s approval or blessing. If you are still waiting for negative relatives to validate you, you’re in for a long wait. Don’t set yourself up to be miserable. Get over it and go prepared.

—-

 

 

 

 

 

Not My Mother’s 40th Birthday: Embracing the “F” Word.

“Forty is the old age of youth; fifty the youth of old age.” ~Victor Hugo

It’s official! I have arrived, in the ‘old age of youth’ . . .

This quote was a bit depressing at first read, but I guess I will instead choose to focus on the fact that the description of my age also includes the word “youth”.

What will my forties bring for me? I am not certain, but one thing I do know: this is not my mother’s fortieth birthday.

I didn’t even know my parents when they were forty. My dad was about 42 when I was born, and my mom was 40. But I still know that my big 4-0 is very different from my mom’s, about 40 years ago.

In 1971, at age forty, my mom had a newborn (me), a nine year old (my sister), a 15-year old (my other sister), and a 17-year-old son on his way to college. Both of her parents were still alive. Also, at that time, my mom was also just ten years shy of becoming a widow.

I think about that a lot this week. As I turn the corner into my 40s, (notice I didn’t say anything about going over a hill!) I do so with so many blessings in my life – husband, friends, family, and fulfilling work I love.

However, I cannot ignore one big thing that is missing. And I honestly don’t know how to feel about it. In addition to not having any parents on this milestone…

I’m 40, and I’m childless.

That wasn’t really the plan all along. After my husband and I got married in 2000, we often talked about having kids “a bit later” or “in a few years.”

Then, after about three years of being married, around 2003, we started “trying”. Or at least, we stopped trying NOT to have kids, if you will. Then, after my mom got sick, those plans got put on hold, not really consciously or deliberately, but in the midst of my grief and depression, the priority just fell away.

So that was, and is, the reality. And honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about that. I really don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing for me, that I haven’t procreated. 

No One Expects the Spanish Inquisition

The week before my ‘big’ birthday, as if I hadn’t already been struggling with the issue of childlessness in the face of 40, I was intensely grilled regarding my parental status, or lack thereof, by a complete stranger. 

Within 30 seconds of being introduced to a visitor at the office (a friend of a coworker apparently, who rattles off a few life facts as he makes the brief introduction), I am drilled by my new acquaintance with the dreaded questions:

“So, you’ve been married ELEVEN years?”.She says this with a smile, as if she’s pleasantly interested; perhaps she’s going to comment on, or commend us for, the longevity of our marriage, as many often do, just exchanging pleasantries. But no, I had misread her devious smile for a friendly one.

“And, you don’t have any kids? Really? Why not?” she asked, with very real condescension, and feigning concern, “You don’t like kids? You just don’t want them . . . ever?  I mean, WHY?”

Wow. Nice to meet you too, oh fabulous mother of three who is here chatting up my married coworker for no legitimate reason… perhaps we should talk about that? But no, that’s why the questions were all fired at me, to make sure I didn’t have time to wonder about this attractive wife and mom, sitting cozily in my coworker’s office, in full flirt mode, in the middle of the day.

So here I am, in the middle of my workday, with an unknown vamp and a male coworker, confronted with the most personal, sensitive, and uncomfortable line of questioning I could possibly endure anyhwere, much less at work. I should have politely told her to (other F word) off. But instead, in my overly tolerant and accomodating way, I stood there, explaining to a complete stranger, why I don’t have kids: 

“That’s so sweet of you to ask. I used to have three children, but they all died tragically in a house fire two years ago. It was very painful; thank you so much for your concern.”

………

Of course, I didn’t really say that. But I wish I had had the intestinal fortitude to say it. Maybe it would help her realize how inappropriate she sounds. 

What I did say in reply to her was rambling and apologetic. As if somehow I’ve failed this unknown person by not reproducing, I nervously explained how I haven’t really tried NOT to have kids, but it just hasn’t happened… that I do like kids, and am open to them, but don’t feel compelled to go have some manufactured or purchased, although I may at some point in the future.

Treat everyone with politeness, even those who are rude to you – not because they are nice, but because you are. -Author Unknown

Apparently, within minutes of meeting me, this woman felt very strongly, it was very important to her, that I want, and bear, children. Perhaps it validates her decisions to have three kids in four years, I am not sure.

After my driveling, nonsense reply, I look at her pleadingly as I trail off, trying to read her expression for some sort of signal that I can stop talking – have I satisfied her curiosity? Can she, Ms. What’s-her-name, with her skinny jeans and smug, fruitful, triple-child-bearing uterus, accept that answer about my fertility, or lack thereof? 

I could tell I had said enough, because she was about to speak, indicating that she was done listening, and I could stop explaining. Phew. That’s over.

Wrong again.

With a final, swift kick while I was down, she opened her mouth to wield her sharp tongue once more, taking one final stab, this time aimed squarely at my husband’s virility. I won’t even justify her comment by repeating it here, it was so distasteful. But suffice it to say, the basic message was that someone younger, and perhaps in athletic form, could have had more success at impregnating me.

With that, I politely excused myself from my lovely new acquaintance and my coworker. I left his office and slinked back to the safety of my own, where, after at least 15 minutes of deep breathing, rehashing, and cooling down, I was once again able to gather my thoughts and get back to work. Quite frankly, I’ve gotten used to having my own fertility, motives, health, and decisions questioned… it was the added attack on that of my husband’s that really caught me off guard.

Is the issue of my childlessness on my mind as I turn 40? Yes. Is it weighing heavily on me? Maybe. Do I know what I’m going to do about it? Not a clue. 

———-

“If you really wanted kids, you’d do something about it.” 

Another favorite declaration of the baby-boosters, the above statement, or some variation of it, is often proclaimed in a stern tone of reprimand, as if to say: what the heck have you been doing all these years without kids? Have you no life? No sense? Get busy dammit!

Yes, I’m forty! 

Yes, I’ve been married 11 years.

And NO I don’t have any kids.

And NO I’ve not been to a fertility clinic. 

What really seems to confuse people even more, is that, as much as it seems to appear that I absolutely do not want kids, I cannot say with 100% certaintly that I absolutely do NOT want a child either.

Being officially undecided and uncommitted one way or the other, is even more perplexing to people (not that it’s their job to understand my personal, intimate decisions, but they seem to need to) than flat out declaring I do NOT want kids under any circumstances. Especially now, “at my age”, my lack of conviction against having a child seems to make people very uncomfortable.

My own confusion bewilders me, so why wouldn’t others be confused by my stance, or lack of one?  It’s my life, it’s my family, and it’s my situation and my body, so other people aren’t necessarily entitled to explanations or clarifications, even though many people enjoy asking for them, or demanding them, apparently.

Maybe I should start asking other people more questions:

Her: I have two kids.

Me: Really? You have two kids? How nice. Why?

Her: Excuse me?

Me: Well, I’m about to tell you I have no kids, and I’m sure you’ll ask me why, so I’m asking the same, just wondering why you have two kids…go ahead, I’m listening!

—

Maybe I will try some new tactics in handling future interrogations, and report back, as to how they go over with nosy strangers… I’m sure it won’t be long, before I’m questioned again… until then, I’m Left Behind, and Living Life, with no parents, no kids…and looking forward to my forties! 

Old age is fifteen years older than I am  ~Oliver Wendell Holmes

A [wo]man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams  ~John Barrymore

Do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many  ~Unknown

 

How to Help a Child Who has Lost a Parent

A family friend, “M”, just 41 years old, passed away suddenly last week. He left behind two kids, ages 6 and 7 years old.

For much of the morning after hearing about it, all I could think about was the fact that two more kids had lost a parent that day, and what pain they are experiencing, and will continue to feel for a long while.

At such young ages, the kids left behind probably can’t really comprehend what has happened. A few years from now, it might even seem as if they’re almost completely recovered and moved on emotionally. 

But some of the toughest times for dealing with the loss may come years later, when, as a child who has lost a parent, you do start to understand what you lost. It may take decades to fully process the loss. They’ll always have that aching hole in their heart that I’ve talked about before, that all of us have after having lost a parent during childhood.

The good news is, kids are resilient in general, and with a strong support system, M.’s kids could turn out to be even stronger people because of this experience. However, it won’t be easy for them, and they’ll need a lot of help. If you know a child who has lost a parent, there are several ways you can help, depending on how well you know the child and parents, and how much time you have to spare. Even if you have just a few minutes, or a few hours, there are ways you can make a significant impact on the life of a child who is grieving the loss of a parent.

 

Making Memories Last:

Compared to what most people know about their parents, kids who lose a parent at a young age will remember very little about their deceased parent. They will know a relatively small amount about who their dad was as a person.

It’s often taken for granted that these memories will last – that, as friends and family of the parent who has passed, you’ll all be around to continue to discuss and share memories, but that is not always the case. Memories start to fade, people get busy and go about their lives, drift in and out of one’s life, etc.

But the child who has been left behind cannot so easily move on. As a young person who has lost a parent, the times when you need comfort or miss your parent the most may not be the times when there are people around to talk to or help. It’s often when you’re alone, late at night, when everyone else is asleep, when the loss of your parent hurts the most. It is at these lonely moments of weakness when the child needs to have something or someone to turn to, to look at, touch, read, or listen to, to feel closer to his or her parent who is no longer there.

So, if you know a child who has recently lost a parent, one simple thing you can do to help, is to put some mementos together for the surviving kids. I cannot even begin to tell you what even the smallest, seemingly insignificant memory of their mom or dad might mean to these kids years from now.

Mementos could include photos, or any notes, voicemails, emails, or gifts you got from the parent who passed away. If you can give them to the child to save, (or to the surviving spouse, if the kids are too young now) along with a note about what the memento means to you, it is something the kids will probably keep and cherish forever.

If you don’t have a memento, it’s just as effective, maybe even more so, if you have a memory or anecdote you can write down, or a story you can tell, and record, for the kids to keep and listen to or read in years to come. 

What would a child want to know about their parent? A few ideas, based on some of the things I used to wonder about my dad, years later, after he was gone:

• What did he used to say about me? What did he like about me? How did he feel about me? How was I special to him?
• What did you like most about my dad? What do you remember most about him? How was he special to you?
• What was my dad like to other people? How did he impact the lives of others?
• What were my dad’s strengths and weaknesses? 
• What did my dad think I’d be like when I grew up?  What did he want for me?
• How did my dad feel about my mom? What was their relationship like?
• What traits do you think I share with my dad?
• What was my dad like as a child or young adult?  

 

“Circle of Dads”:

 After the news of M.’s death spread through the community, I saw a lot of friends sharing memories and photos of him on facebook, which was a very nice way to memorialize him. It made me wish that such technology had existed 30 years ago when my dad passed away.

But will M.’s kids ever see these posts? Who knows if facebook will even be around, say, five or ten years from now, when these kids might want to remember their dad one day?

I recently read an article about a dad who had been diagnosed with terminal cancer, and before he passed away, he contacted several men, including friends and family, and asked them to look after his kids when he was gone. I thought it was a really touching idea. While of course no one can replace their dad, at least his kids would have someone to help carry on their dad’s memory, and be a father-figure in their lives.

But when someone dies suddenly, like my dad, or like M., there is no time to form a circle.

So maybe the survivors could form such a circle after the fact.

M. had lots of siblings, so his brothers will certainly be important figures in the lives of M.’s two surviving children. And he seems to have a close-knit group of friends, many of whom were the same friends from elementary and high school, so they have a long history of friendship, and many memories, of M. What the “Circle of Dads” would do is take turns doing dad-stuff with the kids, and act as a support system for them in their dad’s absence:

Take the daughter to her Daddy-Daughter dance.

Cheer the son on at his Little League games.

Applaud the daughter at her dance recital, or piano recital, or at whatever activities she pursues.

The circle of dads can also share memories about the missing dad, and do a lot of the things he may have done with his kids. And hopefully it can continue for years, not just the months following the loss. That is key, because, again, some of the toughest years come much later.

What are your thoughts? What would you add to the list of ways to help a child who has lost a parent? Your input is welcomed. I hope this information can be helpful to others who find themselves facing this difficult situation. If it helps just one person do one thing, save one memory or attend one function for a young person who has lost a parent, it was worth writing!

If you do not personally know a child who has lost a parent, you can still help a child or children by donating your time or money to an organization that supports children who have lost one or both parents. Such organizations include the Children of 9/11 Foundation, and Kate’s Club, which provides support, companionship, and activities for kids who have lost a parent.

Related:

• Children of 9/11
• Who My Father Was
• Who the Other Me Would Be

Photo: Mementos of my father… a monogrammed pocket watch, (we shared the same monogram), his wedding ring, and his Rotary pin, on an oak desk my dad built in the 1960s.

How the Children of 9/11 Inspire Me: Giving Thanks for the 10 Years I Had a Dad

I remember watching the events of 9/11 unfold ten years ago this week, and thinking about all the kids who were losing parents that day. Hundreds of young kids became part of a club no wants to join. I knew, as I watched, that so many kids were in for some very long, sad days ahead, as I had experienced after my dad died when I was ten. While their experience as historic children of 9/11 would be different from mine in many ways, there are also many similarities. Watching and reading about the children of 9/11, it’s evident that much of what children experience losing a parent, and many of the emotions felt, are universal, regardless of the circumstances.

“I’ve stopped crying, but I’ll never stop missing him,” one son said of his father, a 9/11 victim. The son spoke at a 9/11 memorial ceremony, and shared his wish to make his dad proud with the young man he has become, and the life he hopes to live. As a child who loses a parent, you never know for sure if you’re making your lost parent proud, but you always hope and strive to do so. It’s one significant way to honor your parent’s memory – to live a life and grow into a person that would make him or her proud of you.

In a televised program about the kids of 9/11, one daughter, who lost her father at age 12, said that she’ll never forget that moment she learned her dad, her hero, a policeman, would never come home, that she’d never be with him again, never hear her dad’s voice, never hug him. That moment seems to be one that stays with kids forever. I know it did for me: the look on my mother’s face after returning from the hospital, and the fact that she had just walked through the door of our house, were not good signs that dad was alive, because she’d have still been there at the hospital with him. But when she uttered those words “he’s gone”, my world changed forever, as it did on 9/11/2001 for over 3,000 kids.

Over the years since 9/11/2001, People magazine has tracked some of the kids who were, at the time of 9/11, unborn. These kids were born to 9/11 widows after their husbands, and fathers of their children, perished in the tragic events of the day.

These kids never knew their fathers. They are now around ten years old, the same age I was when my father passed away.

I’ve often wondered: What would it be like to have never known my father at all? Sometimes I even thought it might have been easier in some ways. I would not know what I was missing, if I’d never met my dad. I would never have had to experience losing him that day when I was ten. Just as I’ve often wondered who I would be if my dad had lived into my adulthood, I also have wondered who I would be if I had never ever known him.

But after reading People’s ten year update about these young 9/11 kids, I can’t imagine how hard that would be, to have never known my father at all.

Because they were born after 9/11, these kids don’t have a single memory with their father to cherish. Unlike me, while I don’t have many photos, these kids don’t have a single photo with their dads. Many of the kids have developed various habits to help them to feel closer to the fathers they never knew:

One sleeps with her father’s shirt.

One surrounds herself with photos of her father.

One wears a necklace that reminds her of her father.

One boy feels close by eating his dad’s favorite foods.

One asks his mother to tell stories about his dad.

Another thing all the kids who’ve lost parents seem to have in common: they cherish others’ stories and memories about their parents, especially when they are told they look like their parent, or share some characteristic in common with their departed loved one. 

I’m not sure which would have been more difficult if my dad had died before I was born: never having known my father, or knowing that he never knew me. “He would have liked me,” said one 9/11 child about the father who never met her.

One thing these unborn children were spared, unlike the living children who lost parents in 9/11, is the trauma of having their parent taken from them. It’s probably the only good thing about having been born after their father died.

That day my dad died is one day, one memory, I could have lived without as a young child. If you lost a parent as a child you know what it’s like, especially if you were there when it happened; that experience stays with you forever.

Coincidentally, I had invited a friend over for a “play date” the day my dad died suddenly, so she was there that unfortunate day. Even though it wasn’t her dad who died, I think she may have been almost as affected as I was by the event. She saw what I saw. She was with me when I found my dad on the floor in the middle of his heart attack. After my sister called 9-1-1, my friend called her parents to come pick her up, but instead of waiting from them to arrive from their house about 5 minutes away, she ran out of our house into the pouring rain to meet her parents at the end of our street, because she couldn’t stand to be in the house for even a few more minutes. As I watched my friend run out the door, I remember wishing I could go with her – wishing I had a place to run like she did – a car that could pick me up and take me back to normal. 

But once you lose a parent, no matter when or how you lose him or her, you have a new normal, and you spend the rest of your life adjusting to it.

I look forward to the continuing coverage of the courageous kids of 9/11, who also have the media spotlight on them in addition to everything else they are enduring, to see how they are doing on future anniversaries. No matter what happens to them, they always have that unique bond with the other kids who were born to 9/11 widows, or who lost a parent on 9/11. Although they have experienced a heartbreak that is unfathomable to many, I know these kids will have a special strength and perspective on the world that will carry them through their lives without their dads or moms they’ve lost.

In watching another report on 9/11 survivors, one of them said something that stuck with me:. She said that for survivors of 9/11, this week is not just an anniversary of something that happened ten years ago – it’s the tenth year of something that never ends. That statement could not be more true for the children of 9/11 – for them, this is the tenth year of life without their parents.

Playing the Song Backwards: A 7-Year Itch, of Sorts

If marriages experience a seven-year itch, can grief and loss have a seven-year itch too? This week is the 7th anniversary of my mom’s passing, and it’s sort of doing a number on me emotionally. Anniversaries like this don’t make me nearly as sad as they used to, but this week I’m feeling a bit more melancholy than the past few August 25ths.

Seven years ago, my life was like living a country-western song, so many crazy things happened that year. It was seven years ago today that I became parentless. I was a “born-again orphan, and that was only the beginning… In August of 2004, we said goodbye to Mom, and laid her to rest, and she was finally reunited with my dad, 22 years after his passing. But that was not the only verse.

At the beginning of 2004, my “year of the country song”, Mom started to get really sick. As her health rapidly declined, her (second) husband of 20+ years, my step-dad, who was already ill, then got sicker. He died in the late spring of 2004. Then Mom died about 8 weeks later. It’s too bad there are no Groupons or BOGOs for funerals.

Within the following months, I got laid off from my job. Then my dog died, at the vet, from what was supposed to be a routine teeth cleaning. Our house was on the market, and sold within a month, so we were now homeless, as our new house wouldn’t be complete for about six months. We moved into my sister’s basement. We had to hire lawyers to battle my uncle (Mom’s brother) over her estate. We no longer speak to him or his children. We sold off Mom’s house and many of her possessions.

It was an interesting year, to say the least. After losing my dog, my mom, my step-dad, my job, my uncle and cousins, and temporarily my home, I decided that 2004 was the year of the country song. I know many people who feel this way, at some point in their lives, for various reasons, not always due to the loss of a parent. Once one really bad thing happens, several more seem to follow, like waves of dominoes toppling each other over and over. Whether it’s the loss of a loved one, or the loss of a job, any significant loss or trauma often sends shock waves through your entire life, and everyone in it.

If you’re a fan of country music, or even if you hate country music but like to make fun of it, you may have heard what happens if you play a country song backwards:

You get your dog back, your spouse back, your job back, your house back, and you get out of jail!  Maybe there was hope for me too! (For the record, I wasn’t ever in jail, but I definitely needed rescuing from this trying period in my life!) 

While it wasn’t as easy as playing a song backwards, I pressed on to try to reverse my Year of the Country Song.

I got a new, better job. As a bonus, the company that had laid me off and made me jobless then completely closed down and ceased to exist… poetic justice!

We even got another dog. While I wouldn’t ever dare say that our new dog is “better than” the dearly departed dog Bailey, I can say that our replacement dog, a pomeranian named Rocky Road, definitely gets along better with our other dog Ella J. the schnauzer, than our first pomeranian did, so that’s a good thing I guess.

We moved into our new house, so we were no longer homeless. 

But, one thing I couldn’t ever fix, replace, or approximate, was mom. Seven years later, I’m still parentless.

“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.” -Unknown

That’s great, and true, to an extent. While time is healing all wounds, however, it fades memories too. Maybe that is, in fact, how time works so well to heal grief, by wiping away the memories that make you hurt so much. Seven years is a long time. Memories dissolve. Life moves forward, even after you’re left behind. 28 seasons have turned. I haven’t seen my mom, heard her laugh, or seen that mischievous twinkle in her eye for seven years. I’ve forgotten things about her, things she said, things we did together, time we spent together, that I never thought I’d ever forget.

Fortunately, as some of the memories fade, regret and resentment fade too.

Resentment, because my mother didn’t even try or want to take better care of herself, to stick around for her four children who had already been without a father for so long, and for her seven grandchildren who never knew him, and now would barely know her. Regret, because I wasn’t there with her when she died. You can’t ever get back that moment in time when someone leaves the earth forever and life slips away.

Mom could have lived much longer, had she chosen life. One of my nieces is getting married this week. Mom, of all people, should be here to be a part of it. She loved weddings. But, I guess she was just tired. She’d buried two husbands, the second of whom was very ill for years before he passed. She even had sold her bridal boutique over to my sister. She’d married off four children who’d produced 7 grandchildren. She wanted to go on her own terms, at the “right age” for her, and I guess she did, in a way.

 

“Although it’s difficult today to see beyond the sorrow, may looking back in memory help comfort you tomorrow.” –Unknown

On this week of the 7th anniversary of Mom’s death, I feel as though her spirit may be stirring things up around here just to make sure we don’t forget about her.

It’s appropriate that there’s a big wedding in the family this week. Mom would be so excited about it and proud, even if she may have not expressed it easily. I know she will be at the wedding in some way.

And, the house Mom and Dad had built and lived in for more than 40 years is on the market, for the first time since my siblings and I sold the house off in the process of settling her estate. When we sold the house, we held out and spared it from being torn down by a developer who wanted to replace it with a McMansion like 80% of the other lots on the street. We didn’t want our house to be completely destroyed forever.

Today, the house, now updated, gutted, and completely renovated, is for sale again. It doesn’t look anything like it did when we sold it seven years ago, but it’s somehow comforting that it’s still standing. It’s one memory that can’t completely fade. I can drive by, and see the house there, where over 40 years of family memories were made. The couple who bought the house from us in 2004 are moving following a recent divorce. Perhaps it was their 7-year itch too.

~~~~~~~

In conclusion, although my mom’s beverage of choice was a Manhattan on the rocks, not a martini as stated below, this quote pretty much sums up her attitude on life, which ended seven years ago. I don’t know who wrote it, I’ve seen it attributed to multiple sources, including a greeting card, but it’s still the perfect quote for her!

Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, martini in one hand, chocolate in the other – body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming “WOO HOO, What a Ride!”

                   

 

 

 

 

 

Heavy Stuff Gets Lighter

Grief can get heavy. At least it did for me. But the good news is, it doesn’t have to weigh you down forever.

I wasn’t “lucky” enough to be one of those people who stops eating when I get stressed or depressed. No. Quite the opposite, I turned to food as comfort. And let’s just say that after a while it got very uncomfortable, carrying all that around…After my mom died and I became parentless in my early 30s, I wore my grief like a badge of honor – a very large, heavy, 60+ pound badge of honor.

Some people memorialize lost loved ones with a new tattoo, or by planting a tree….but not me. I guess I chose obesity!

Throughout my teens and twenties, I was one of those people who had always been relatively slim to average in weight, all the while feeling very fat. Almost always. 

It didn’t help my self-image when my mom seemed to enjoy reminding me of how much skinnier I used to be. After college, when I grew into a size 10, she’d smack me on the rear and laugh at the extra wiggle in my walk… (keep in mind, as she said this, she was probably wearing a size 18-20 at the time, or more, but that was beside the point). As a size 10, I might as well have been obese. I certainly didn’t feel good about how I looked. I felt fat more than I felt thin, for whatever reason.

After I got married in 2000, I gained a few extra “fat & happy” marital pounds, so by the time my mom got sick in 2004, I was already around a size 12 (the horror!).

Then after mom died that year, I guess I figured I’d show her “fat”!  So began the not-so-good grief grocery grab! 

I thought, with Mom gone, I can eat whatever I want to eat. She isn’t here to tell me how fat I look, or am, at size 8 or 10 or 12… she wasn’t there to tell me how fat I am at size 14 or 16… she was no longer there to watch me balloon to 18+. No one can stop me now!

The odd thing is, even after gaining more than 60 pounds in a few years, (a lot for a 5-foot 2-inch frame!) I didn’t feel that much worse about myself or my image. I think it’s because I never felt that great about myself and my appearance before I gained the weight, so being larger really didn’t make me feel any worse. It couldn’t. In my head, I was huge already, before I gained the additional 65 pounds… 

Finally, something just clicked, as if an alarm clock went off in my brain. A wake-up call. I couldn’t carry the extra weight around anymore. It was too much. I had spent most of my 30s in an unhealthy, unflattering, un-fun state. As I approach 40 (which, incidentally, is just 12 years younger than my dad was when he died), it hit me that life is really short, and by allowing myself to be this overweight for so long, I could be cutting my life even shorter. 

“If you don’t like something, change it; If you can’t change it, change the way you think about it”  -Mary Engelbreit

In May of 2010, (not long after I bought the pants in the above photo) and a bit more than 5 years after I became parentless, I was ready to be the old me again, or maybe even better than the “old” me.

I decided to go on a diet and exercise regimen. Nothing fancy, no pills, no surgery, no fad foods. Just a low fat, low carb, high protein, high fiber diet, plus 30-60 minutes of exercise 6 days a week.

Being average never felt so great!  –Me

Today, about one year and 65 lbs later, I’m excited to be back at my wedding weight from almost 11 years ago. Yes, I’m back to that same weight at which I used to feel really fat!  In fact, when I got married, I was mortified that we had to order a size 10 wedding dress for me to wear (equivalent to about an 8 in regular clothes.) I might as well have been ordering a white tent. Right before I started my diet in Spring of last year, the size-18 me looked at those wedding photos of the size 8 me and wondered what was wrong with my vision, or with my head!

The greatest thing about the weight loss, for me, is not how I look, but how I feel about myself now.

I’m not sure why, but it’s almost as if I had to be really overweight for a while, to appreciate being more healthy. I’m not proud of the weight gain at all. It was unhealthy and bad for me all the way around. I was ashamed, and I’m still embarrassed that I let myself get so out of control for so long. However, now that I’ve lost it, I am grateful that the experience helped me to learn to appreciate myself more. Now, I try not to be so hard on myself and my appearance all the time, like so many women are, thanks to unrealistic standards in society and in the media, an over-abundance of plastic surgeons, trick photography, and airbrushed everythings.

I guess, it’s all about perspective. Everything is relative. Having been a size 5 growing up, size 10 felt hideous and horrible, especially when your own mother is pointing it out and laughing at it. But after being a size 18, I feel like a supermodel as a size 6. 

Similarly, grieving a major loss, such as the death of a parent or anyone special, helps you see life more clearly. After you experience a significant loss, your entire perspective on everything in life changes. Once you experience that type of pain, you tend to not sweat the small stuff as much – you’re just happy to be pain-free.  

The good times, even just plain okay or average times, (e.g. when no one is dying) are that much sweeter and more enjoyable after you pull out of the darkness and back into the light.

“The hilltop hour would not be half so wonderful if there were no dark valleys to traverse” –Helen Keller

 

 

Opposite of Sandwich

Society loves labels. People, trends, brands, conditions…. everything has a label, and with each label comes a set of expectations and generalizations.

Since I was born between the years of 1965 and 1979, I am part of the group of people labeled “Generation X”. Therefore, by definition, I’m an individualist, a slacker, a la “Reality Bites”, or so it has been declared.

Many of my coworkers, as well as most, if not all, of my nieces and nephews, are “Generation Y”, also referred to as “Millenials”, so they are tech savvy, impatient, not as career focused as many feel they should be, but are also well-traveled and very worldly.

My three older siblings are all “Baby Boomers”. Baby Boomers are often also referred to as the “Sandwich Generation,” because they are mid-life adults who are sandwiched between aging parents and growing children, all of whom depend on the adults who are sandwiched in between the older and younger generations.

So, with all that being said, what is the opposite of a sandwich? 

A la carte?

Entree’?

Chopped liver? 

Whatever you’d call it, that’s what I am, I suppose. I’m the un-sandwich. As someone who has no parents, and no kids, I’m just out there, exposed, no other generations wrapped around me, or sandwiching me.

What does that make me? What do you call the people like me who are parentless and childless? (If there even are any others like me out there…). I wonder how many people have the same status as I do? Sometimes I think there must not be very many people with these same circumstances. I don’t think I know anyone personally who is “unsandwiched” like me. I do know a fair amount of people, and many friends my age don’t have kids. I know a few people who have no living parents, but most of those people are much older than I am. But I don’t know anyone who has neither parents or kids… am I alone? Or am I just a rarity? 

Maybe that’s why there’s not a name for un-sandwiched people like myself.  There are so few of us, perhaps we aren’t even worth labeling.

Then I think there must be others out there. Much like one who ponders the existence of life on other planets… I wonder if there are other “unsandwiched” (a la carte?) people out there like me…

Being an “island” generation seems a bit lonely when you think about it initially. If you had told me 15 years ago that I’d be in this scenario, parentless, and childless, I probably wouldn’t have believed it, and I probably wouldn’t have been too happy about my future. I’d always imagined that by this point in my life, late 30s, I’d have (several) kids or at least still have a parent.

If someone had told my former self that I’d be parentless and childless throughout my 30s, (which, by the way, is not by choice, for the most part, but that’s for another post!) I’d have probably thought I’d be lonely too. But I’d have thought wrong. 

I’m surrounded by an abundance of other wonderful people, from my husband to my sister (and best friend), to my eight nieces and nephews, and my great nephew…. from my in-laws in Baltimore to my favorite Aunt in DC. Extended family, friends, and neighbors. Even coworkers and facebook friends can brighten my days and bring many smiles and laughs. 

At times, after making time for work, spouse, house, friends, family, hobbies, and general upkeep in life…. it’s almost hard to imagine having any time for anything more, or anyone else in life. It’s taken me a long time to feel settled, and comfortable. It wasn’t easy, and I’m still figuring a lot of things out. But I have a better idea of who I am, or at least who I want to be. There are still loose ends, and unresolved issues, some of which are significant, like having kids. Yes, believe it or not, we are still open to the idea of having kids, much to the confusion of many, who seem to think that, just because I’m in my late 30s, and I’m not beating down the door of the nearest fertility clinic, I must “not want kids, period”. But we haven’t ultimately determined that. We haven’t tried not to be parents. It just hasn’t happened for us. And, for all we know, maybe it’s not supposed to happen, for whatever reason.

Are there lonely days? Absolutely. But doesn’t everyone have lonely days, no matter who you have or don’t have in your life? You can feel lonely in a room full of people, even in a house full of people. I know many women who are married, and/or have children, and/or have one or both parents, yet they feel alone much of the time. Being ‘alone’ is often a state of mind, as much as it is a state of being. No matter who you might feel you’re missing in life, a spouse, a significant other, kids, parents, siblings, or friends…. it’s up to you to create the life you want, to have your best life, with or without those people. Even if you are fortunate to have many of those special people in your life now, they may not be there forever, so enjoy every moment you have with them while you can.

Some of the worst days for me are certain holidays, especially ones like Mothers’ Day and Fathers’ Day. On those tough days, it seems like every single person on the planet is spending the day doting on their parents, and being doted on by their children, and it can be very lonely. I used to allow both of these days, and lots of similar “greeting card days” make me feel really lonely, but now with the passage of time, and with a concerted effort to adjust my attitude about them, I now try to treat them much like any other day. And, I approach those would-be sad days like I now approach anniversaries of my parents’ passing, as a day to remember the good times and honor them with happy memories instead of being depressed about my situation.

So how should we label those of us who are “unsandwiched” by parents or kids? Not that labels are necessary, or even good, but if society is going to give us a label eventually, (once our group grows large enough to command a label, as more people in my generation continue to forego having kids), then we might as well have some input into the label and what characteristics get slapped on us. 

I prefer “filet mignon” to “chopped liver” any day, so when determining a label for folks like me (if there are any others like me out there), maybe we could go with something a bit more enticing than “chopped liver” and skip anything related to sandwiches, which are rather bland.

Instead of just a plain piece of meat, or a breadless sandwich, I think we should be labeled after some sort of Mexican food (a personal fave, so I’m biased) – spicy and a little unpredictable, like the lives we lead, with no kids and no parents.

With no parents and no kids, we’re more free to go where we want to go and do what we want to do, or at least more so than those who are responsible for young kids or aging parents. There is a degree of freedom that accompanies un-sandwiched adults like me.

We don’t have to be a certain person for our parents.

We don’t have to be a certain way for our kids. We can just…..be!  Whomever we want to be.

Even without kids or parents around, life can be very full. You can have the whole enchilada, with sour cream and guacamole on top! In fact, maybe instead of a bland sandwich generation, we can be the enchilada generation, with a fun mix of flavorful ingredients, wrapped in a light flour tortilla, (of friends & family) without the weight of processed grains and a heavy crust….

Or maybe we should just forget about having a label, and just go on living a zesty, fun-filled life!

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Thanks for stopping by. If you liked this post, you might also like:

Who the Other Me Would Be

Three Words

Better Off Dead? Or Better Off Divorced?