Sometimes you've got to whine a little bit

Spending holidays alone can bring up painful thoughts

Easter 2025, 10 p.m.

I’m watching “American Idol” on TV and crying. All those weepy moms in the audience remind me both that my own parents didn’t come to my shows and that I will never have a child to love and support like that.

It’s Easter. I have been trying hard to be Zen about not having a family to spend the holiday with, but now the reality is sinking in. My mind wanders to painful places.

This afternoon, a niece posted a photo of my sister-in-law surrounded by her grandchildren in front of a homemade birthday cake. They had gathered for a combined Easter/birthday celebration. The kids didn’t have to be reminded and cajoled to do something for their mother. They just did it. I am happy for her. She works hard taking care of those kids and my brother.

On my last birthday, which was better than average, I went to my weekly open mic, where my fellow musicians sang to me and made me feel loved. At church, having read my posts about my upcoming birthday, our videographer brought me flowers. I was thrilled.

As I sat at the piano before Mass, a handsome older guy whom I admire mouthed, “Is it your birthday?” I nodded and he smiled, but after Mass, he was gone. He is widowed, too, but I’m pretty sure he has kids.

My neighbors invited me over for supper. It was nice, although a little uncomfortable because there were four of them and one of me. But it was kind of them, and we had fun.

If I didn’t say a word, who would think to do anything? And when was the last time someone baked a cake for me? Have I mentioned how much I love cake, the more gooey frosting the better?

Back to the moms in the “American Idol” audience. I can’t help wondering what my kids would be like. Would I have a pretty daughter like my niece or a tall son who would adore me and take care of me? Would they add in-laws and grandchildren so my family could be as big as my brother’s? Would I never spend a birthday or holiday alone? Would I bake cakes for their birthdays?

Excuse me while I fetch some more Kleenex.

I had three stepchildren. When my husband died, they slipped away. What little I know about them these days is posted on Facebook. What if I had tried harder to keep in touch, to be part of their lives? Would they have let me? I don’t know. I didn’t know how to be a mom, especially when my husband wasn’t enthusiastic about being a dad, but I think I blew it.

By choosing Fred, I chose life without children of my own. He was a wonderful husband. Who knew he’d have early-onset Alzheimer’s and die at the age I am now? I thought he would be with me for at least another ten years.

Now that there are tests for Alzheimer’s, should we require them before we get engaged? Like we used to test for sexually transmitted diseases back in the last century before we could get a marriage license? Would we want to know?

At the top of my to-do pile is my advanced directive for health care form, which lists what I want done in a medical emergency if I can’t speak for myself. It has spaces to list the people who will speak for me. It has been on that pile for months. Besides my brother, who lives 700 miles away, I still don’t know who to choose as my alternate representative. The aunt I listed before is no longer well enough.

Who would care enough to hang around a hospital making life and death decisions for me? I have friends, but do I have the right to put that kind of responsibility on them? Should I recruit one of my cousins, the cousins I only see at funerals? What if I put out a call for volunteers? Would anyone respond? I know I said in a previous post that I was taking care of this, but I have to admit I’m stuck.

I have a lot more planning to do for when I become disabled or die. I woke up sick this morning, a reminder that I don’t have forever. I want to have everything in place, right down to the funeral songs and what to do with my piano, but this advanced care directive is a roadblock.

The other day at church, we were joking about a man who showed up at Sacred Heart Church passing out fliers, trying to find a woman. When someone suggested he try the senior center, he admitted he had been banned from the place. You have to wonder what a guy could do to not be allowed at the senior center. It had to be worse than cheating at bingo.

Part of me wanted to call him. I’m not looking for sex, but for a friend and ally. And a health care rep.

I want a family, not just at Easter but every day. It’s fine to be alone while I’m writing, but at the end of the day, I want someone to talk to, someone to sleep with, someone to help me figure life out. I might be good at taking care of myself, but that doesn’t mean I want to. Sometimes I just have to say it: I would rather not be alone 24/7.

The thing about not having children is that it starts with one baby but grows into a family, with young ones to replace the older ones who pass on to the next life. Otherwise, you end up alone. On Easter. Christmas. Your birthday. The anniversary of your husband’s death. The day you win a prize. The day the doctor says you have cancer.

At the Easter open mic, I sat with three other women. Two had husbands and all had children, but we were there alone on Easter Sunday with nothing else on our schedules. We didn’t ask each other why. Two younger men had brought their girlfriends and were disgustingly romantic with them. That did not help. The music was great, but the elephant in the room kept roaring, what are you all doing here on Easter Sunday?

Okay. Enough whining. If we’re alone not by choice, I believe we have the right to whine now and then when it gets to us. Afterwards, you fold the laundry, wash the dishes, go for a walk, and move on.

You can do it alone. What else are you going to do?

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I hope I didn’t bum you out. I debated about sharing this, but in the end, this is part of the reality of living alone. As for being sick, I think something I ate yesterday got me in trouble. It will pass.

The illustration is an AI creation, but my words are always my own original writing.

RIP Pope Francis. Such a good person.

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How did I end up alone? My first marriage ended in divorce. My second husband died of Alzheimer’s after we had moved to the Oregon coast, far from family. I never had any kids, only dogs. Now I live by myself in a big house in the woods. You can read our story in my memoir, No Way Out of This: Loving a Partner with Alzheimer’s, available now at your favorite bookseller. The Kindle price has just been reduced! Visit https://www.suelick.com for information on all of my books.