baby substitutes

When Childless Grief Knocks You Down, What Do You Do?

Sue Fagalde Lick baby substitutes, childless and alone, childless grief, living alone , , , , , , , ,

Last Thursday was a beautiful day, the snow almost melted, the sun shining. I was walking the dog in the woods when I had this thought: What if when we got home, someone from my family was there waiting for us?

What if my brother, nephew, niece, or cousin were there? What if my grown children were there, ready to spend time with “Mom.” I could almost feel the hugs. They could take me out to dinner, fix the lights that don’t work, and help me figure out what to do about . . . so many things. 

But they aren’t coming. My real-life relatives live far away and have busy lives. I don’t have any children, just the deaf old dog with vertigo who keeps veering across the path, pulling me along with her. With no one around to see me, I let the tears fall. In the movies or on TV, someone always shows up to offer comfort, but not in real life. I went home to my house that’s way too big for one person and buried my feelings in pastry and work. It’s when my mind is open, like when we’re walking, that I hear that voice saying, “You are alone; you’re not supposed to be alone.” 

When I married Fred, I gave up the chance to have children. I don’t know if another man would have come around if I waited. I don’t think so. I have never met anyone else I wanted to spend my life with. I chose Fred, along with his kids from his previous marriage, because he was wonderful. I had no idea he would get Alzheimer’s disease and die or that his children would break the connection with me right after the funeral. I did not expect to end up alone. But here I am. 

I suffer from depression. I know the grief attack will pass. But in the moment, it hurts like hell. I’m jealous of everyone who still has a partner. I hate that I’m alone while they’re surrounded by children and grandchildren. I know I’m not the only person in this situation. I know I have wonderful friends. All I have to do is call them, but when I’m depressed, I can’t make myself do that.

The rest of the world really doesn’t understand childlessness. They advise us to get involved with other people’s children. Become a teacher, work in daycare, be a mentor, cozy up to the offspring of your friends and family. Be a super aunt or uncle. But that is not and never will be the same. When it’s time to go home, the children go with someone else.

Choosing a partner who will not give you children means giving up the family you might have had. You lose the safety net that would keep you from being alone if for some reason he or she left you behind. I hope it never happens. I hope you have a lifetime of love together. If you end up alone, you will find your own way, but you might be doing it with tears streaming down your face.

I’m on my way to a writing conference in Seattle, where I will be surrounded by people who love words as much as I do. It will not be family, but I will not be alone and I will not be thinking about the children I never had. Last night I visited with my cousin, who lives in Washington. Her life is filled with children, but we have so much in common beyond children that it doesn’t matter. Today I am anxious–big city, crowds, commotion–but I am not depressed. I pushed myself out of my hermitage in the woods to seek out other people because I need them.

What about you? Does the grief knock you down sometimes? How do you get back up? Do you feel a wall between you and your family because you are the one without children? Please share in the comments. 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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That baby’s a real doll!

Sue Fagalde Lick baby substitutes, dolls, Dr. Gail Saltz, memory babies, reborn babies

Readers may or may not remember how I explored the toy section at Wal-Mart to find out what dolls girls were playing with these days. I’ll admit that I wanted to play with some of those dolls. The baby dolls were so realistic I wanted to free them from their wrappers and hug them against my barren breasts. But I didn’t. It’s a small town and I don’t want people to think I’m nuts.

However, it seems some women actually do buy baby dolls as substitutes for real babies. They’re calling them “reborn” babies or “memory” babies. For the whole story, read “Fake babies ease women’s anxiety, sadness,” published last week at MSNBC.com. Author Dr. Gail Saltz explains the therapeutic value of dolls for empty-nesters, women whose babies have died, and childless women. Unlike real babies, dolls never cry or need clean diapers, but in some odd way they provide some of the same positive feelings as real infants. “It fills a place in your heart,” doll-maker Lynn Katsaris told Lauer.

There’s a British documentary called “My Fake Baby: New Life with Reborn Dolls.” A clip from the film shows a woman carrying her “baby” around a grocery store. People who stop to admire it are amazed to discover it isn’t real.

Now, I’m ready to call this just plain nuts, but then again after my dog Sadie died, I purchased a dog statue made of stone. It’s about a foot and a half high and sits on my hearth gazing up at Sadie’s picture. I call him Stoney and make jokes about how he’s such an easy dog to care for. The idea was to purchase a memorial to my beloved pet, but before we got the new puppies (agh, wild mudballs!), I sometimes talked to Stoney and thought of him as my dog.

So who am I to say we’re too old for dolls, especially as Chatty Cathy looks down on me while I type?

No, not dogs again!

Sue Fagalde Lick baby substitutes, pregnant with puppies


Yes, dogs again. Sorry, but that’s all I can think about these days. You see, Fred and I adopted two 7-week-old puppies last week, and it really feels as if I have two babies. They’re the same weight as babies, have the same needs, and fill the same needs in my heart. Last night, my church choir surprised me with a puppy shower. There were two baby blankets, but of course no little onesies. I did get dog treats, chew toys galore, balls, weewee pads, and lots of advice. There was a gorgeous white-frosted cake with big red flowers on it. This may sound totally nuts, but it felt as if I had received something I’d been waiting for all my life. I sat on the floor of the chapel opening presents and soaking it all in.
As assistant director, I was surprised that there had been a wave of e-mail that didn’t include me. Those sneaky singers.
Puppies are certainly not the same as humans. They won’t take care of you in your old age. Conversations are rather one-sided. And they poop and piddle on the floor. But for the childless woman who wanted children and didn’t have them, they’re one way of filling that emptiness.
Has anyone else found that to be true? What other ways can you feed the maternal need? I’d love to hear your ideas.
And yes, I promise to get back to human issues next time.