Group Therapy is a relationship advice column that asks readers to contribute their wisdom. Each week, we offer a problem for you to weigh in on, then publish the most lively responses, with a final word on the matter delivered by our columnist, Lynn Coady.
A reader writes: I am in my late 50s, widowed for six years. I was not looking for anyone new, but a year ago a friend introduced me to a widower who is retired. We are very happy - and about to get married. However, our children (27, 47 and 49) are not happy at all. We have been patient; we obtained a prenup and gave them legal reassurance that their estates are secure. Things have improved, but my 27-year-old son, whom I've always been close to, refuses to give me his blessing. Our friends and other family members are happy for us, but my son says it is difficult to see me with a man who's not his father. I'm feeling hurt and fed up. Can you offer any guidance?
It's your life, not theirs
My father (at the time in his late 70s) started dating a woman four months after my mother's death and I thought to myself, how wonderful for him. My dad is deaf and going blind, and cranky, and she puts up with him and treats him with more kindness than I ever could. My advice to those three grown-up kids? It's not your life, it's your mom's. Let her live it, just like she let you live yours. And be grateful that she has someone to take really good care of her.
Shannon Sampert, Winnipeg
Tell him to grow up
As a financial planner for the past 22 years, I have seen these cases far too often. By being patient, getting a prenup and giving the children legal assurances on their inheritance, you have done everything possible to address the issues that concern most adult children. So the youngest son must be sat down and firmly asked: Does he want his mother to be happy? And does he want to be part of that happiness? If not, he needs to grow up or grow a pair. Life isn't always about him.
Jake Cadigal, Winnipeg
They will survive
I lost my father almost two years ago, and my mother is still heartbroken. She has since met someone that she cares for. It's not the same kind of love she and my father shared, but it is a comfort to both of them as he is a widower too and understands her loss. We are sad because this new man is a reminder that my father, whom we all loved and adored, is gone. The situation is not perfect. BUT out of respect and love for our mother, we are grateful that she has met someone. The question you need to ask your kids is do they want you to be alone and unhappy for whatever time you have left here. They will survive your moving on.
Kathleen Fellinger, Regina
The Final Word
Last week we discussed a psychological phenomenon, made up by me, called the "parent-child default" - a factory setting that comes preinstalled in each of us. But what exactly is this default? How is it defined? If it could vocalize it would have a tone, and that tone would be a perpetual high-pitched whine.
Now, let's say it eventually learned to modulate the whine in such a way as to form words. The message it transmitted would be basic and to the point: Take care of me, Mommy. Now.
As we mature, we fiddle with the default setting out of necessity; in order to save face, mostly. Because after a while it becomes downright unseemly to, say, expect a woman who is twice your age, who has just prepared and served a sumptuous meal, to fill your teacup for you because you are too exhausted by rapid caloric intake to get it yourself (sorry, Mom).
It's not a pretty spectacle when that high-pitched whine emerges from the pouting mouth of a person who pays into RRSPs and owns a Posturepedic mattress.
But let's give the kids a bit of leeway for the moment.
Kathleen has walked in your son's shoes and understands. He lost his dad. He loved his dad. No doubt he enjoyed a secure and loving upbringing, thanks to you and his father, meaning you did an excellent job. Problem is, instead of stepping back and realizing how good he had it, all he can see is what has been lost, and the irrevocable change this new marriage represents. Let's acknowledge how difficult it must be.
Now let's acknowledge that it's time for your son to grow up -or, as Jake puts it, cutting through the fiduciary argot of his profession, grow a pair.
As Shannon says, this is your life. If he were still hanging off your legs wearing a Kool-Aid mustache, then yes, you'd be obligated to respond to the "take care of me" whine discussed above. But when that whine emerges from the bewhiskered face of a 27-year-old, the problem is glaringly his to deal with.
Next week's question
A reader writes: My baby-boomer parents are both wonderful, intelligent people. As an adult I've become close friends with them, and generally love spending time with them. However, on evenings when they consume alcohol they always drink too much. After a few drinks, they often begin to act childish - or worse, can become opinionated and rude. I want my parents to get to know my friends, and they do, too, but usually I avoid introducing them for fear that my parents will humiliate me and I will become angry. How can I cope with my own discomfort without making my parents - whom I love - feel that I am judging them?
Do you have an answer to this question or your own dilemma? Weigh in at grouptherapy@globeandmail.com and include your full name and hometown. (We will not print your name if we publish your personal dilemma.)
Lynn Coady is the award-winning author of the novels Strange Heaven and Mean Boy, with another one currently in the oven.