Then, as an adult, I took on a growing fear that if I didn’t get a move on, my dad might not be around to see me get married, or meet the children I hoped to have someday. More recently, it’s the cognitive decline that reminds me, in the cruellest of ways, that the father I know and love is slowly slipping away.
I need to make it clear that I do not resent my parents for having me later in life. It wasn’t exactly a choice. I know if they both could have somehow rewound the years and had me sooner, they would’ve done so without second thought. Because the harshest reality of having a child later in life is also the most obvious: the older you are when you have a child, the less time you have with them, and them with you. When we’re young, it’s easy to forget or disregard our own mortality; it is one of the great privileges of youth. But growing up with older parents forces you to face the very real and very terrifying passing of time at a much younger age. It’s a feeling of living on borrowed time that, once it hits you, never really leaves.
I have no doubt that for men and women debating whether to have a child later in life, this must cross their mind. Speaking on the Goop podcast when her daughter was two years old, Diaz, then 49, said: “I’ve got 50 or 60 years to go – I want to live to be 110, since I’ve got a young child. I think you have this amazing moment in your 40s where you appreciate who your parents are, and I want to have that moment with her; be there with her in her 40s.”
Living longer is, of course, much easier for extremely wealthy celebrities with access to the world’s best healthcare. But given that the average life expectancy for men and women in the UK is 79 and 83 respectively, it seems unlikely that any parent having a child in their 50s would live to see their child’s 35th birthday. For most, they’d be lucky to live through their 20s.
I’m not a mother, and I don’t know if it’s really as difficult to be an older mum as society would have us believe. I also understand the many reasons why people – and I say people, not women, because lest the headlines on birth rates in this country deceive us, it takes two to have a child – would choose to start a family later (the financial implications, for one). Many, particularly those who have struggled with fertility, don’t ‘choose’ when to have a baby at all.
But I can’t help but look at my friends whose parents haven’t even turned 60 yet and not feel a pang of jealousy. I know that might sound odd at best, ungrateful at worst. The only way I can explain it is that it’s not a lack of gratitude for the time I’ve had with my dad, but rather a preemptive longing or mourning for all the time I won’t.
I also know that older parents don’t always make younger orphans. I am almost 32 and incredibly lucky to still have my parents. I think of my dear friend who lost her incredible mum, her best friend, two and a half years ago. They shared a birthday. This year, my friend turned 32. Her mum would’ve been just 60 years old. To my friend, it doesn’t matter how old her mum was when she gave birth, she still lost her at such an unspeakably cruel age. I know she is reminded of all the time they should have had together every single day.
But to automatically leap to women like Cameron Diaz’s defence in the ill-informed name of feminism lacks the nuance and thoughtfulness this topic deserves. Yes, women – and men – should be allowed to have children whenever they want, but should we really be embracing parenthood in our 50s, 60s or 70s (or in Al Pacino’s case, 80s), knowing the difficulties and pain it will likely cause the child sooner? I know this may be an unpopular thing to say, but I’m not so sure.
But while I may be a 31-year-old daughter watching her beloved dad deteriorate, I’m also a 31-year-old daughter who’s lucky enough to have known the unconditional love of a remarkable, dedicated and compassionate father. When all is said and done, I wouldn’t trade our time together – now matter how comparatively short – for anything.
