Miscellaneous No Kidding issues

One of the advantages of time between those initial years of infertility and grief, and today, is that perspective begins to set in. I find I'm better able to have a more global outlook, to see comparisons, and not to react sharply, and personally, to ignorant or insensitive comments.

I find too that I'm better able to stand up for myself, and for my No Kidding sisters (and brothers). I recently mentioned that motherhood is glorified in western societies these days, and was surprised when a friend I hadn't seen in a long time was completely disbelieving. It was clear she'd never had to think about it before (because they are in the majority), and consider how biased society can be.


It has also made me really sensitive to other insensitivities, which I observed this month when two sisters of someone I know cheerfully posted a Fb meme answering questions about their happy relationships. At exactly the same time, their third sister was splitting from her husband and leaving her home.


And right now, I'm trying very hard not to think about what our own ageing and demise will be like, as I deal with an elderly relative's last weeks/days, and try to provide support without resentment.

Ageing without children (again)

The last few months have been busy caring for my rapidly ailing in-laws, and it is leaving little time for us to do much else, let alone look for work, travel beyond an overnight trip, work on our own garden and home maintenance projects, or – for me – no opportunity to even get out with my camera to complete some challenges in my photography course.

This last week, my in-laws Wills and POAs were updated and finalised; of course, my husband did everything, organised the lawyer, provided the drafts, talked it through with them, etc, based on his parents’ wishes.

With my MIL ailing over the last few months (she’s 94, and went through a course of chemotherapy!), we have been at least part-time carers, thinking of things they don’t think about (the chemotherapy affected MILs mental ability(, or don’t see (my FIL is going blind), and doing as much as we can without taking away their independence.

As a result, the issue of who will care for us in our old age hovers over me, although I try not to ask that question, as I’ve accepted that there will be no-one in particular we can rely on; though I hope one or two of my nieces might still be in the country.

Once again though, it is a reminder that we will need to get organised early, and live in an environment with plenty of support. We won’t have the luxury of leaving our decisions until we are in our 90s, when ultimately someone else has to make the hard calls. But in retrospect, watching my in-laws, I don’t think that is at all luxurious, or lucky.

Making positive decisions for our own personal care and welfare when we are younger and more lucid will mean that when we are elderly and vulnerable, we should already be somewhere we are comfortable (physically and emotionally) and don’t have to worry over decisions we are no longer capable of making. Maybe there are advantages to knowing that we have to do it all ourselves?

#MicroblogMondays: When Granddad is irrelevant

Today we visited the in-laws. They were chatting about reminiscences, and next moment father-in-law is referring to himself as Granddad. Except that I thought he was talking about his grandfather. So I asked a dumb question, which he responded to accordingly.

Then I realised. “Don’t call yourself Granddad to us!” I remonstrated him. “We won’t get it, because to us, Granddad is irrelevant.”

I wasn't being overly sensitive, or bitter, or even unkind to him. I was just being honest.

Blogs are like buses ...

... you wait for ages for inspiration, then two or three come along at once.

This year I'm hosting Christmas.  Two of my husband's brothers and their families are returning for Christmas here, with their parents.  I of course am hosting Christmas dinner/lunch, to take the burden off my 90-year-old mother-in-law.  That's okay.  I have it planned, and I have delegated some tasks to my sisters-in-law.  I'm a little nervous though - I'm cooking a turkey, and I've never done that before.

Every year we've hosted, we've asked my in-laws about my husband's aunt and uncle.  Usually if they are in town, they go to another niece's house for Christmas Day, but I have always wanted to give them the option of coming here, However, whenever I have raised it with the in-laws, my curmudgeonly old FIL has always grumbled at the idea.  And, feeling as if it is "their" side of the family and therefore their right to decide (I'm just the cook), I have always urged an invitation be sent.  (In my defense, it's a complicated family dynamic.) But I've never stood up to him, and for that I am ashamed.   Finally I spoke up a few years ago.

I pointed out that in case they haven't noticed, they don't have any children.  And neither do we.  And that when we are old and alone, we hope that if any of our brothers and sisters, or nieces and nephews are nearby, that they will invite us to spend the day with them.  That we won't just be ignored and pushed aside, as they both (aunt is MIL's sister after all) seem happy to do for this elderly couple.  (I have no fears that my sisters, and my sisters-in-law - husband's brothers' wives - would ever do this.) 

I don't know that he had ever compared our situations.  We don't discuss our childlessness with them, but I think they feel for us.  But they aren't very good at feeling compassion for others, and they're certainly not good at expressing it.

And so for the last years, we have just informed MIL and FIL that we are inviting them, and that they have no say in the matter.  (And to their credit, they haven't complained about it - not since my outburst).  This year is the first year A and H are coming.  (They have been unable to come previous years).  I hope they enjoy themselves, and feel part of the family.

PS:  I hope it provides a good example to my nieces and nephews!

Ouch, whine, drink

My mother-in-law will turn 90 in a few months.  Yes, that's right, 90.  Probably older than most of your grandmothers!  So of course, our minds have turned to the big event.  The social organisers of the family - the sisters-in-law (of course) - have had discussions, and plans were hatched.  But they all depended on Brother No. 1 (with apologies for the insensitive but in some ways surprisingly apt Khmer Rouge reference).  Brothers #1, #3, and  #4 have all lived overseas for many years, but #3 and #4 both return much more regularly.  Brother #2, my husband, lives here, only a short distance away from his parents, and in recent years has felt that we can't really move because they are aging and becoming more needy.  I've whined about this from time to time  .And so, emails were sent, and efforts made to see if all brothers could get together.  Unsurprisingly, these were unsuccessful.

Scene set.  Father-in-law sent out an email noting that it was unlikely to happen. He feels sad - he believes he will die without ever having all his sons together in the same room again, and this belief was the main impetus behind our efforts to get the brothers together.  I feel sad for him.  But then he lost me.  He said in his email that the prime reason for a get-together would be seeing all the grandchildren get together - cousin meeting cousin.  Not a celebration of his wife's longevity (he's a good deal younger).  Not the opportunity to see all his sons together again under the same roof.  No, it was the next generation. 

And yes, as my husband pointed out (and I knew this but I wanted a whine), my father-in-law reflects on his life and worries about the "continuation of his line."  And yes, I do still feel sorry for him that he doesn't have his sons and his grandchildren around him.  Heck, he only has 50% in the same hemisphere.  I get that.  I do.  He's old, and sad.

But still.  Ouch.  Unintentional as it might be, the snub hurts.  Clearly, our attendance is largely superfluous.  Irrelevant.  The last 13 years, when we've been the only relatives left in the country, feel as if they count for nothing. Because we didn't produce grand-children.  And, after all the efforts I made to try to arrange this reunion, after taking the risk that Brother No. 1 would blame me for pressuring him to return, after the time and energy and frustration that I have invested in this family, in keeping them in contact with each other, in ensuring that the grandparents actually see some of their grand-kids, that hurt.


The irony is that, completely unrelated to any of this, my husband and I are hatching a plan that might mean we won't be around at the time of the proposed reunion.  And despite my hurt, I still feel guilty about that.  Guilty as charged - childless with a conscience; a conscientious irrelevance.  No kidding. 

Time for a drink.

Disclaimer:  This was written when I was hurt.  I know I shouldn't write posts when I'm hurt - so don't be surprised if I delete this tomorrow!

Nature/nurture and general ignorance

Mel's post prompted me to think about how other people view adoption.  On the one hand, we are barraged with comments along the lines of "just adopt."  On the other hand, we have people who make judgements and view children and relationships differently if they know they are adopted.  I suspect there are family members who feel that way about donor eggs too.  I wrote this post in 2009, and think it's worth repeating here.  I'll have more to say at the end.  Here it is:

Over the last few months, I’ve found myself frustrated over comments from people about members of their family. They have used family with quotation marks – “family” because they have included people in it who have been adopted. (Spouses were also not included as “family” but that in itself has not bothered me). Every conversation about the wider family has included a variation on the phrase “but of course don’t forget that J and D are adopted.”   I know that these people have strong feelings about this, and have included provision in their will for grandchildren “of natural issue” only.

It brought me to that age old question, what makes a family? Is it the years spent together, the shared experiences, love, arguments, traditions? Remembering the Christmases when Uncle Robin drank too much, or Auntie Evelyn’s beautifully-iced Christmas cake, or Yvonne and James wrestling, or the games of French Cricket on the lawn? Or is it simply the shared blood, the shared DNA, that ties us? The fact that we can look around and see that we share the Rose hips, or the R noses, or that I see my mouth on my nieces’ faces.

And how important is that blood? It is only important in consciousness. If you know that someone doesn’t share your DNA, do you look at them differently, in that awareness? If you are not aware of the lack of any genetic connections, wouldn’t you love them as deeply? Don’t people manage to find or imagine physical or emotional similarities to ensure they’re included in the family? Aren’t family trees full of children who don’t have the fathers that are recorded or assumed, coming from different blood? Or these days, family trees will include children from donor eggs or sperm, whose genetic links are to another family tree entirely, but who have been loved and raised through this one, whether the wider family is aware or not that they don’t share DNA? Aren’t, too, family trees empty of those who should be there, the children who are lost to that branch, unacknowledged because of indiscretions, shame and stigma, or simply lack of knowledge of their existence?  So why should these blood connections seem to be so important? And why do I mind so much that they are?

I suspect that this has hit me hard on a personal level, because our particular branch of the family tree ends with us. Adoption or other alternatives were always a possibility for us, not having any children of “natural issue.” I am furious at the thought that if I had adopted, people would view my children differently to those of my sisters, or of my husband’s brothers. The fact that they would be seen as second class citizens, not true members of the family. Would they feel the difference? Would it scar them? It makes me wonder whether child J and D, mentioned in the first paragraph, are aware of how some members of their family see them. I hope upon hope that they are not.

So why is it that I still flinch when I think of the bare, lonely branch on a family tree that ends with my husband and I? Why should it matter? Whilst I mostly feel accepting of my life without children, of my death and beyond, it does annoy me that this still has emotional power over me. Is it the desire for some form of immortality that makes blood so important? And isn’t that based on a deep-seated fear of being forgotten, a fear of ending? And isn’t that based on a feeling that you have not been enough in this life? Done enough? Been loved enough and loved enough right back? Is it based on a fear that we have not made a difference in someone’s life? Or that we have not changed the world after all?

Perhaps I just need to get over myself. We all need to get over ourselves. Simply being here has changed the world, and made it a better place. A kind word can make all the difference to the right person on the right day. Delight in someone’s writing, their work, their smile, their garden. Loving and being loved, whether by family or friends, near or far. These are not unimportant things. They should be, and are, enough.

The person I referred to in that post is my father-in-law.  Yes, I obviously harbour a deep resentment towards him as a result of these comments!  The ridiculous thing is that he is so ignorant of reproductive technologies that there are some grandchildren who could easily be the wonderful result of IVF or donor egg/sperm.  I don't know, and as I said here, it's not my business.  He loves them (as do I) - they are good students, very active, athletically-talented, and fun kids.  Everything he wants in grandchildren.  And that's all that matters.

Being a daughter-in-law

I’m a good daughter-in-law.  I visit the parents-in-law regularly.  I push my husband (when he needs it, which isn’t often) to interact with them, or think of solutions to their problems.  I try to figure out how to make their lives easier.  I smile and nod and listen to their stories.  Yes, I moan and complain here and to my friends that my husband and I are stuck looking after them, and that my husband doesn’t feel he can leave the country because then there’d be no-one to take care of them.  (All their other children live overseas and show no guilt about it, and no intentions of returning, or even of visiting regularly.)  And actually, I'm quite proud that my husband feels that way, even if I wish he didn't.   But I have never let my parents-in-law know how I feel, and I never will.  That just wouldn’t be fair.  They are both in their 80s, and things are getting worse not better.  They need to feel secure, at least, in our presence when their future is increasingly insecure.

My mother-in-law is almost 89.  She’s been very lucky with her health, both physical and mental.  But she’s old, and she's never been very sensitive (even though she thinks she is), and age doesn't help that.  So I can’t really allow myself to get angry with her, and I certainly know I can’t begin to educate her or change her views.  As much as I want to sometimes.  As much as she makes me want to scream sometimes. 

So today, we visit and the first thing she does is point out the photos of the nieces and nephews on holiday in Malaysia swimming with baby elephants.  That was okay – we’d been emailed the photo, and so didn’t have to discuss it with her, or hear her rave about how beautiful the boys are, what beautiful children they are, so stunning, she’s never seen anything like it, their eyelashes, have you seen them?  Not this time.  Then she whips out the photo of her great-niece (one who has never given us the time of day) with her 3 year old daughter and new-born baby.  I bite my tongue, and find something else to do (I’m such a coward) whilst my poor husband has to look at the photo.  He shrugs, easily, deliberately disinterested.  “A baby.  They all look the same.”  Somehow, it isn’t impolite from him. Guys can get away with so much. I wanted to hug him.

Thoughts about daughters, nieces and mothers-in-law

I actually wrote about this a month or so ago, when Mother’s Day was being held in the UK.  Yesterday of course it was held in NZ, Australia, the US and Canada, South Africa, and probably a whole bunch of other countries.  I was congratulating myself around 5 pm for getting through it okay.  I realised I had seen little advertising, as these days – like so many people – our TV/internet/newspaper consumption is on demand, and we don’t have to sit through schmaltzy advertisements reminding me what I’ve missed out on.  So I was feeling okay, as for the second weekend in a row I was a dutiful wife and daughter-in-law and spent the time with my in-laws.

My mother-in-law loves Chinese takeaways, and only gets them if we visit.  So it’s easy for us to go out to their suburb, pick up dinner just down the street from them, and then have the meal with them.  It’s a real treat for my mother-in-law, as for some reason she never walks the five minutes to buy them on her own.  (That’s a whole different blogpost, that I won’t inflict on you!)  Picking up the Chinese food, the lovely old lady who served us chirped, “Happy Mother’s Day!”  I nodded (it wasn’t her fault), then grimaced – ouch - as we got outside.  It took me by surprise.

Then, as we arrived at the in-laws, the MIL was so excited that her son had come to visit again.  I should feel sorry for her – and I do – that all her grandchildren live overseas, and that three of her four sons do.  Later, we chatted.  She bemoaned the fact that she never had a daughter.  That she used to commiserate with her next door neighbour (mother to two sons) that they never had little dresses hanging on the washing line.  How sad it was that she couldn’t dress up a little girl.  And she does all this in front of me.  And her son.  What I wouldn’t have given to be able to hang up little boys’ shorts and T-shirts on the washing line!  I tried not to let it show.  But of course, she doesn’t notice. 

When her first grandchild arrived (a girl), she never bought her little dresses.  She never did girly things with her.  She doesn’t do that now with her other three grand-daughters, even when she visits them overseas, or they visit here.  And I figure “maybe my life isn’t that bad?”  My nieces know that Aunty “Mali” buys them cute clothes, fun girly things (without being too stereotypical).  An older niece remembers me teaching her to wear mascara, and taking her shopping every year for all her school clothes once she turned 13.  (Her mother would hand me a cheque, and send us off, knowing we both enjoyed doing it together).  A friend’s daughter was delighted when I bought her a bunch of ear-rings for her newly-pierced ears.  And I take pleasure in their pleasure.  My mother-in-law has four grand-daughters, and it is no-one’s fault but her own that she doesn’t have the fun of going into a kid’s clothes shop to buy the most adorable little girls’ clothes.  Besides, one of the benefits of being a gran or an aunty is that you don’t have to worry about how to wash or iron the cutest little outfits.  That’s a mother’s problem, after all.

And finally, I’ve been a member of her family for over 20 years.  So has my closest sister-in-law.  My other sisters-in-law have been around for at least 10 years each.  She has had the opportunity to have daughters, to learn from us what it means to be a young-ish (well, compared to being 87!) woman today and to share life with us.  She doesn’t recognise the role we all play in the family.  It’s not easy to communicate when the family is in five different countries, and most of the sons are dreadful correspondents.  But we – the daughters-in-law - arrange family reunions, we talk and share issues and concerns, we keep that family together.  We may not be daughters – but we’re the nearest thing she’s got.

It seems that this is an exercise in writing as therapy, rather than just a moanfest.  I felt sad last night, but in writing this, I realise how lucky I am.  I take the opportunities I have - I love buying my nieces presents and clothes, spending time with them, relating to them, sharing what I can of myself.  I’ve nurtured a lovely relationship (albeit long distance) with one niece in particular, who is now emerging so beautifully and confidently into adulthood.  Of course it’s not without pain.  But as I said in my previous post, I’d rather have that, than the inability to relate at all.