By Kathleen Guthrie Woods
Before I even get into this post, I need to alter my title. It should read “The Death of a Friend (Who Happened to be Childfree).” Okay, that’s better
I entered into an interesting dance with our issues and challenges when a friend of 20-plus years lost her battle with cancer. Mercifully, her fight wasn’t prolonged, and the end came quickly and with little pain and suffering. My grief, on the other hand, was debilitating. I took naps at odd hours, I burst into tears at the grocery store (spotted something I knew she liked, realized she’d never enjoy it again), I read something that made me think of her, went to call her, and remembered all over again that she’s gone.
As I told friends who are moms about her passing, what surprised me the most was how often the first question was “Did she have kids?”, to which I answered “No,” to which the response was “That’s good.” This exchange always left me feeling yucky; did this mean that her death and my loss had less of an impact because she wasn’t a mom? I get that it’s good that young children were not left motherless, but I can’t quite agree that it’s good she never had any, yet I know she didn’t feel that her life was lacking in any way. She had an extraordinary life—full of travels and adventures and loving friends—one that wouldn’t have been possible if she’d filled her days with parenting duties.
I wallowed in my grief, and I wallowed in the anticipation of what I perceived will be my own inevitably lonely passing. But before I could start hating all reproducers for their insensitivity, I got a call from another long-time friend, a stay-at-home mom. Even though she had only met the other woman a few times, she cried with me over my loss. She listened to my memories, she shared a few insights, and before long she had me laughing so hard that I was crying again.
In earlier posts I’ve complained about the comments made after tragedies in which children are lost, such as “Only a parent can understand.” I’ve argued that compassion isn’t exclusive to people who happen to be parents. So this experience was my lesson in reverse. In my vulnerable state, I so easily could have locked myself away with my childfree friends. Many friends offered their condolences, yet the one person who really understood, who was able to reach my heart and truly comfort me, is firmly established in the mommy club. Compassion isn’t exclusive to anyone, it’s a human trait. And aren’t we lucky that, when we really need it, it comes to us from many different sources.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with being childfree.
what surprised me the most was how often the first question was “Did she have kids?”, to which I answered “No,” to which the response was “That’s good.”
I have often heard this response too… and I really do not understand it at all!! It really upsets me – here’s why. — I am one of 4 sisters and we are very much alike, but my husband is an only child. Once he is gone, there will not be anyone who looks like him, acts like him, has the same mannerisms as him. When I am gone, he can still see a little of me in my sisters, but when he is gone, he is gone. I will have no one to see his eyes in, or hear his voice in… to me, it’s sadder when a childless person dies because you really will never ever see, hear, feel that person ever again. I don’t understand the “good” part. — and if there is a child, then the others around the person who passed are extra lucky because clearly you see that parent (the one who passed)in the child… – I hope this makes sense… I might be rambling here… it’s early where I live! lol…
I fully agree with you Kristine – and what a strange comment to say “that’s good” to the fact that Kathleen’s friend didn’t have kids…
A cousin of mine died in a car accident about 10 years ago; she was a single mom to a little girl who was about to turn 1. When I saw my cousin’s sister and her parents, I told them I thought it was really a good thing for them that there was this little girl, because they had no choice but to move forward with her, and they agreed. And now when I see the girl (who was adopted by her aunt), I always have the feeling that her mom somehow lives through her.
This is one of the things I’ve been having trouble dealing with since finding out I was in premature menopause last year and theres no possibility of me having children. I too am an only child and now I can’t have kids. I think what will I leave behind when I die. In terms of family there isn’t a lot there except for my mother. Will I have left an impact or nothing at all? I realize kids aren’t needed to do that but its hard to think about. I’m 40 years old and thats one of the things I’ve thought about since diagnosed last year. I hope I’m making sense.
Please don’t think that when a childless person dies, you will never see their eyes, hear their voice, etc. in anyone ever again. My great aunt was unable to have children, but so much of her personality and physical appearance is in me. I cannot have children and my sister had 3. My sister’s daughter looks nothing like her but is my clone – both looks and personality. There is a picture of my mother’s father on her wall that looks exactly like a relative in my family – we all thought he was like no one in our family – but now that he is a man we see he looks exactly like this relative. What I’m saying is that our DNA does not move in a linear way – your DNA is part of your entire family and your eyes, nose, mouth, voice, posture, sense of humor, can show up any time when anyone in your family has a child. I hope that comforts you.
I think of this often. I am an only child with stage four breast cancer. I got cancer at 32 when all of my friends were becoming moms. I was childless and ill at an age when everyone else isn’t. It isn the most lonely feeling. I often wondered what I had to live for. My husband has a child from a previous marriage whom I have known for eight years. She resents us for moving closer to my parents and anworld class medical facility for my healthcare. It’s a double whammy to have your love and care rejected after so many years. I think of how this will be the end of my family when I am gone.
yeah, that “that’s good” comment sound a lot like “it’s okay if you die now” to me. Am I overreacting?? 🙁
The logical part of me says “I do matter…weather I have kids or not.” The depressed part of me says “I don’t matter. What am I going to leave behind.” Theres more to life then kids. I know this. I’ve lived without them until now. I just still feel like I’ve lost something and theres nothing left.
Kathleen, I am sorry about the loss of your friend. You are correct though that when things like this happen, you will find support from unexpected sources. When my father-in-law died a couple of years ago, I happened to be in room and it was the first time I ever witnessed someone passing and it changes you. As I told people that he had died, the condolences were passed along for my husband which is normal. But it was a woman whom I had been friendly with that called me at home who had experienced something similar with her own father and it really helped me to process things during the whirlwind of the funeral and the immediate days after. We are closer now and I thank her for that.
(I lost a friend to ALS five years ago. I still think about him all the time. Hang in there!)
This is one of my triggers, I hate hearing that question ‘Did she have children? No? Phew”. I do think the meaning of the death is lessened when someone expresses relief that a deceased woman did not have children. You hear similar things all the time – e.g. someone talking about the death of their husband in the past: “I don’t know what I would have done if I’d been on my own…”: it’s implied everywhere that children are the only thing that keeps you going if a partner dies; without them you might as well end your own life too. I think a lot of these comments actually come from people with children – in my experience, it’s always mum’s who ask that question first. There are two main implications at play: one, that if you aren’t a parent no one really mourns you very intensely, and two, that life is not worth living if your partner dies and you don’t have children. So it diminishes the love between two adults, and it’s also very insulting to older single people – I mean, where does it leave them? I have been on the receiving end of this a lot in Ireland – I hear comments like this all the time as it’s such a very family-oriented place and not having kids holds all kinds of connotations still.
You all have very good points, I think this all the time,”it doesn’t matter” if I am here or not, there is nothing else……………..I have no kids, so it doesn’t matter. That’s how I feel unfortunately & I get that feeling from people, like it just isn’t as important because what do we have……………………..
dear Kathleen,
I am so sorry for your loss.
I have also lost a dear friend of mine when she was 37.
Yes, it is sad to notice how many times the question – Did she have kids? And the comment That’s good after finding out she didn’t have kids – occur, in all parts of the world.
Sending you warm hug across the Atlantic.
Klara
It is just so sad .. thesociety we live in .. that our worth is whether of not we have kids ..we are just as important without kids for what we brought in this world the joy the intellect and everything
So sorry Kathleen. I think it comes down a lot to the inability in our society to talk about death and loss. Our society is; very clumsily; trying, I think to highlight a positive – ie a child is now not without a parent, rather than acknowledging the devastating loss itself – your friend and acknowledging as well all the people who might be effected by her passing. I think we are generally just very poor at talking about death and loss in our society and anything that cannot actually be fixed. So sorry for you and everyone posting their losses here that cannot be fixed – I feel for you all. Life is truly hard at times and we cannot plug our losses with our children. Keep seeking love and passion in other ways – I’m thankful for my husband – my family has shrunk to him and me.