In her memoir, "A Fine Romance," Candace Bergen (aka Murphy Brown) reflects on her closeness to her daughter as her child grew from a cranky baby into a creative young woman. Mother and daughter had struggled together through the painful illness and death of Louis Malle, Bergen's husband and her daughter's father, and the mother-daughter challenge of Bergen's remarriage and relocation from Los Angeles to New York. But it is the breach of her child's growing independence that Bergen observes in this passage:
"We do not have the intense intimacy, the giddy banter we once had. I remember friends telling me years ago that this is what happened with their relationships with their daughters. They become friends. There is a distance. There are boundaries. That will never happen to us, I thought. Our relationship is unique. Our bond will go the distance. But it has happened. I have to cave on this."
They've left the nest. They're living with college friends or high school buddies. They're moving toward financial independence. They've thrown off the yoke of parental control and are making their own decisions.
We can step back and move on with our empty-nested lives. Or can we? They're adults--but not quite. Carl Pickhardt, a psychologist who who writes about adolescence, likens the 18- to 23-year-old stage to Trial Independence--what some call Emerging Adulthood. For our "emerging" kids, it's a stage rife with trials and pitfalls. For us, Pickhardt says, the parenting may be "the hardest stage of adolescence."
Here's his run down of the stresses, emotions, and the “emotional thinking” that can get in the way of a successful launch--and may require our parenting attention:
Sudden liberation: "Somewhere during the process of adjustment most young people abuse this increased latitude of choice by acting unwisely -- indulging in excess, giving way to distraction, neglecting obligations, seeking escape, and taking undue risks for the sake of excitement, for example. It’s when the costs of this abuse mount that stress begins to build – there are so many ways to experiment, overdo, ignore, avoid, fall behind, feel exhausted, and struggle to catch up. Now independence becomes a state of over-demand in which young people can feel out of control and under ongoing duress."
Being in charge of their lives: "At the outset of adolescence the battle cry was in opposition to external authority: “You can’t make me!” But in this last stage of adolescence it is in desperation at lacking sufficient personal authority to responsibly self-govern: “I can’t make me!”
Signs of trouble: "The young person can become depressed (“I feel hopeless”), anxious (“I feel scared”), angry (“I feel mistreated”), frustrated (“I feel blocked”), disappointed (“I feel let down”), incompetent (“I feel like a screw-up”), guilty (“I feel it’s all my fault”), ashamed (“I feel disgraced”), shy (“I have nothing to offer”), apathetic (“I feel indifferent”), lonely (“I feel alone”), hurt (I feel injured), or helpless (“I feel powerless”), for example.
The fallout from the "troubles": "Feelings of depression can advise “give in and give up” instead of “take initiative and get moving.” Feelings of shame can advise “punish myself” instead of “focus on the positive about myself.” Feelings of loneliness can advise “just withdraw,” instead of “reach out for company.” Feelings of anxiety can advise “avoid what is scary,” instead of “engage with what I fear.” Feelings of shyness can advise “shutting up” instead of “speaking up for myself.”
What's our role when these kinds of emotional crises hit? Here's Pickhardt's advice:
Stay in touch: "Because this is such an emotionally vulnerable time, it’s important that parents regularly check in so she or he knows they are still there and care."
Be encouraging: "Sensitively listen and thereby provide important empathetic support, give encouragement, and even (if asked) suggest ideas for how to constructively proceed."
Get help if things deteriorate: "If it sounds like the young person is digging themselves into deeper unhappiness by acting on the advice of her or his emotions; parents can suggest seeking short-term counseling to restore better judgment to its rightful place."
"I updated my will, something I had been putting off." That's what Kenneth Feinberg, the former administrator of the September 11 Victim Compensation Fund of 2001 and currently administrator of the General Motors ignition-switch compensation program, wrote in the New York TImes. Feinberg, who's nearing 70,had to review in detail the estate plans of those killed unexpectedly. It's given him an up-and-close and personal view of how people leave their worldly goods to their heirs--and provided him with a learning moment or two.
"Over half the victims on Sept. 11 did not have a will. Given that they were relatively young and in good health with excellent jobs, they seem not to have thought it was necessary. I suddenly found it necessary.
"It was also important to me to avoid the problems I occasionally confronted after Sept. 11, when angry siblings, parents and relatives declared war with one another over the victim’s assets and argued over the 9/11 fund compensation. When millions of dollars are suddenly available for distribution, family members, fiancés and same-sex partners sometimes engage in bitter arguments. So I made sure that my wife and three children had a clear understanding of who gets what by providing each of them a detailed memorandum listing all of my assets and an explanation of how my wealth should be distributed after my death."
We are on a downsizing binge. A bag a day is my mantra. I am purging file drawers full of yellowing papers, closets crammed with outdated clothes, basement nooks stuffed with never-used heirlooms.
We may sell our house-- the one we lived in while we raised our kids; the one our grown kids and their kids visit when they come to town. Whether or not we opt for a simpler life style, the accumulation of 40 years worth of stuff stuffed into our house has to be dwindled down. It wouldn't be fair to leave so many years of papers, photos and assorted junk for our kids to deal with.
Would that a giant vacuum cleaner would appear and whoosh it all out of here. But of course it can't. And shouldn't. Papers-- old tax forms, loan applications, home improvement bills--have to be reviewed before we decide if they should be saved or shredded. Non-paper goods also need to be reviewed. Should my mother-in-law's collection of porcelain figurines be hauled to a consignment shop or do one of my children have a soft spot for them? Do either of my children want my mother's 18 place settings (18!) of gold rimmed bone china with hand-painted serving plates.
As I work my way through the maze and mess, I cling to five rules to help me downsize with respect for the past and a real-world view of the future.
Rule One: The shredder, the scanner and the recycling bin are my friends.
A big part of rightsizing is dealing with files of paper--old tax returns, insurance papers, client files (paterfamilias is a semi-retired lawyer), story files (I was a freelance writer for years) and everything else that's been boxed or put on a shelf in a basement recess. It's shocking how many personal identification numbers are on our papers. I shred what must be shredded, toss what doesn't have to be disfigured and have two small bins handy for the few papers I absolutely positively must save. Many of those I'll scan for a paperless save. I wanted to keep for my grandchildren a few of the magazine and newspaper articles I wrote at various points in my career. It was hard to let go of the hard copy, but in this day of smart phones, iPads and laptops, scanning them for possible future readers makes more sense.
Rule Two: The smart phone quickens decision-making
As I sort through "heirlooms," wedding gifts and other bits and pieces of our lives, questions arise about what to toss, give away or save. Does my daughter want her letter sweater from her college diving team? I snap a photo, text it to her and ask for a thumbs up or down. Ditto my son and his deep-water fishing pants with the boots attached. I send my daughter and daughter-in-law photos of my mother's china, complete with lavish serving plates (no takers). I snap shots of my mother-in-laws glassware. My daughter says yes to the oddly funky but graceful goblets. On I go, making decisions with a little help from my heirs.
Rule Three: Keep a rein on sentimentality.
Photos are the devil. We have boxes and boxes of them--ours and our parents'. Some are organized and in albums. Some loose but in subject groupings. I start with the stuff that's not organized at all. It is a trip down memory lane. I take Paterfamilias with me. We sigh and oooh and ahhh. Doubles and negatives are dumped as are blurry shots or photos of relatives or friends we don't recognize. It's endless and wrenching. We tell ourselves, one photo from each bike trip we took in Europe; one from each family vacation. There's a limit to how much can you save no less scan. Which leads to the next rule
Rule Four: Leave a legacy
Photos, letters, verses read at wedding ceremonies. Some of this I'll eventually scan into digital form, organized and saved for posterity or for that someday when I write my memoir--or pull together scrap books or videos that my children and grandchildren can study at their leisure. As I make my way through boxes of my mother's papers, I am tempted to toss it all out. Then I come across her naturalization papers. From 1922! Her name wasn't Rose, as I knew it. It was Roza. This is the raw stuff of history. Primary source. It may or may not be of interest to future generations but it feels important to save. I found myself applying two tests for what to keep and what to throw away: Would anyone but me be interested in having or seeing this item? If not, it goes out. Does the item have historic interest? As Alpha daughter reminds me, she's an historian. I shouldn't give away her raw materials.
Rule Five: Be generous to others.
We have more books than our bookshelves can handle. Libraries might want them. If not (our local libraries are no longer accepting used books), several charities will pick up boxes of books and send them to libraries who need them--perhaps in third world countries. That would be a perfect home for our complete works of Shakespeare and the children's picture books our Grands have outgrown.
Those towels that are fraying around the edges: animal shelters can use them to comfort pets that come into their care.
Furniture that won't fit in the new home: Places like A Wider World will pick up dressers, sofas, rugs--even beds--and use them to help furnish a home for someone less financially fortunate.
Then there is the cache of toys we kept on hand for visiting grandchildren. What they loved to play with when they were two years old is no longer a joy to them at ten. There are places that take used toys in good condition. One of my prizes is a Pony Land house, but it's loaded with sentimental value. One of my Grands played with it endlessly when she was visiting, laying out all the pieces and singing to herself while she played. It's painful to let Pony Land go, but my Grand is now 12. Instead of just sending Pony Land to a charity, I give it to one of the workmen repairing our roof. He has a six year old. It's a comfort to know Pony Land is going to a good home.
The need for a financial boost from the Bank of Mom and Dad--it seems endless. They may be twenty somethings not yet able to establish an independent-life beachhead, thirty somethings buying their first home, forty-ish kids with unexpected and uncovered medical bills. Do we help? If we can afford it and we're asked, do we loan or gift them money for something we consider important or approve of?
Study after survey tells us that more and more of us continue to help out our grown children. A July 2014 survey by American Consumer Credit Counseling, a Boston nonprofit, found that one in three U.S. households assist adult children financially, compared with one in five supporting elderly parents.
A November 2014 survey by Bank of America reported that more than a third of adult millennials receive regular financial support from their parents, and one in five still live at home rent- or expense-free. The support goes not just to those struggling to get started. The poll, which had 1,000 respondents ages 18 to 34, found that among those earning more than $75,000 a year, 25 percent were getting help from their parents to pay for some groceries and 21 percent for clothing.
We also dole out cash to cover rent, cell phones, cars and vacations. Some of us invade our retirement accounts to pay for a child's wedding or down payment for a home. One financial adviser reports that cash supplements run the gamut from regular allowances (to those not earning enough to cover rent and food), to help with legal bills if a child is going through a divorce, to occasional payments for a coat or plane ticket.
One concern, of course, is what it's doing to the money we'll have available when we retire or, if we're retired, whether it will deplete our nest egg while we're still tottering around in our old age. Unless we're expecting our kids to take care of us --most of us do not have that on our Wish List!--we need the wherewithal to pay our bills as we age into our 80s and 90s.
Then there's the question of what this continual support is doing to our children's ability to reach financial independence. An indulgence here and there is one thing--it's one of the pleasures of having a little extra money in the bank and does no harm to the receiver. But barring unusual circumstances, covering their rent, paying their credit card bills, picking up the tab for their cell phone may send the message that mom and dad will pay for a life style they can't afford on their own. In which case, there's no way they'll be ready, willing or able to help us out (sound that Beatle's beat) when we're 94.
