My Turn: Everything but the luxury of family

"Luxury" wasn’t a word we used often, if ever, in our conversations.

We were women — mothers and wives — of the 1950s and 1960s, comfortably overworked with households of three, four and sometimes more adolescents. We faithfully read Good Housekeeping magazine and abided by the popular publication’s recipes and advice. We waxed our eyebrows and attended Weight Watchers classes on Thursday. We bought chicken dinners at Zorn’s Poultry Farm that we took to Fire Island for family picnics on summer nights.

A few of us worked (at least part time) outside of the household, preparing for the inevitable “empty nest” we were warned about but still did not fear. As our families became less dependent, many of us became heavily involved in women’s clubs, church organizations or other charitable endeavors. We had not yet entered the arena of politics.

The female majority still followed the “rules,” of our generation. Very few cheated, flirted or traded spouses. We loved and appreciated our life and had no desire or yearning to swap it for another’s. Most spouses had been (and some were still) overachievers in the business world. Some, including mine, had moved on to a second career involving more travel time.

Luxury was never a part of our conversation or life plan. The closest it came to being articulated might have been an occasional whispered dream of a retirement home, often in Florida or, in our case, Vermont.

Thus, when life changed abruptly for, oh, so many of us, first with the departure of the brood to far-flung schools, academies and eventual mates, we were, at least initially, enthused. While we were proud of the achievements of our offspring, the reality that their new adventures would lead them far from home had not quite sunk in.

It did with a crescendo when we bade final goodbye to the men we loved, the partners who shared life with us through the memorable days of youth, innocence and yes, finally, lifelong commitment. They were dependable husbands who kept their unspoken vow of “providing” for their women. The majority left behind ample funds to permit entry into the new world of “luxury adult residences.” They had no way of knowing that life would also soon become synonymous with loneliness.

Thus, decades before our placid generation had stepped foot into the land of aging, the word luxury entered our lexicon. Admittedly, it was an appealing invitation: Promises of comfort, intellectual companionship and physical ease. It wasn’t too long, though, before we realized utopia is but a dream, and reality quite a different tale. 

We soon discovered we never wanted luxury; we preferred being needed or even accepted as part of everyday life.

The efficiency apartments and the mini gourmet meals wrapped in mindfulness lectures can’t quite fill the void of families now widespread. The daily email and/or weekly FaceTime call can’t replace the knock on the door or a car pulling into a driveway. And, yet, there is no denying this is the role for many of our generation of survivors, both men and women, to live accompanied by the word few of us ever used: luxury.

We dreaded becoming burdens on our children, and we had no desire to inhibit their adventures. But, perhaps, we have not been equally alert to our own need for support and companionship. Sadly, those qualities are not always easily found in residences rich in comfort but devoid of families.

Still, there’s hope: That we may be teaching those to come a lesson in living.