As I wrote last week, I attended the Covid-belated life celebration of an old friend. Other old friends attended, so the event turned into a bit of a reunion for us. People took the opportunity to catch up, which at this stage in our lives seems mainly to center on personal health, children, and grandchildren.
Bob, who came from out of town to attend the celebration, has had his own share of serious health issues that had prevented him from traveling much recently. He was excited to have gotten a travel green light from his doctors and planned to make the most of this opportunity by continuing his journey here with a visit to Austin, Texas, where his daughter, son-in-law and newest grandchild, Nora, reside. This prompted another of our friends, who has two grown sons, to remark that the last thing left for him to accomplish is to live long enough to one day meet his future grandchildren.
I have neither children nor grandchildren. Hearing my friend’s “bucket wish” saddened me, and recently I have been reflecting on my regrets in this life, one of the chief among these being the fact that I was never a father.
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To put things in context, REDACTED the special relationship between a child and a parent is paramount in terms of what it means to be a human being.
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Somehow in my own life, I managed to let the experience of parenthood entirely pass me by. If I ever wanted to be a parent, it is now far too late to change things.
I have had three marriages. My first one occurred while I was still a young man embarking on a career in law and business. Fortunately, by the time our thoughts turned to having children together, we also knew that we no longer wanted to be married to each other.
Meanwhile, at least for a time, my second marriage seemed to be all about having a child. My wife, who was in her thirties when we married, had a diagnosed history of endometriosis. When we had difficulties conceiving, we consulted a fertility expert. My wife willingly became a human pin cushion. We took a clinical approach to bedroom intimacy. Back then the odds for success were pegged as being far lower than they would be today. Nonetheless, she did eventually become pregnant, only to have it end in a miscarriage. I sometimes wonder how my life would have been different had we managed to bring a child into this world.
Finally, as for my marriage with Lee, she was 50 years old by the time we got hitched. By then she had already undergone a hysterectomy. Having children together was never a serious option for us.
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Still, Lee and I had a wonderful life together. Although I miss Lee every day, I am not lonely too often, even in her absence. I have caring friends, good neighbors and a small but loving remaining family. And, there is Lola the pup. Today, I also am lucky to have Robyn in my life. As I have mentioned here before, our relationship has deepened. Robyn feels comfortable and familiar to me.
Yet, Robyn had built a full life for herself –children and grandchildren, a house, a career—long years before we ever met. Perhaps one day we’ll build a life together. Who can say?
Now, while I generally do not feel lonely, I must admit that I feel alone without Lee. Sometimes I will peek into a future where my advancing age or declining health inevitably have diminished me. Will I be able to maintain my independent living? How will I manage to get around to attend to life’s business? Will I die alone? In the end, will I go the way of the Beatles’ Eleanor Rigby, destined to be buried along with my name?
Again, who can say? I try not to dwell on these possible morbid outcomes, most especially because I can still map out a future where I have taken the necessary steps to control those things that I can control and to accomplish the things that I remain capable to accomplish. But I must admit, tasks seem made harder when you must do them alone.
