My beloved daughters’ deep despair makes me feel helpless

DEAR BEL I HAVE two daughters, both the wrong side of 35. There is only 18 months between them and they are very close.

Some years ago, one discovered her chances of conceiving a child naturally were very remote, so she and her husband embarked on the IVF route.

Her most recent and final cycle (barring a financial miracle) has ended in failure.

She is utterly bereft and struggling to find any purpose or reason for her life.

To her, the future looks bleak and empty. I see her lost eyes and my heart is in pieces.

Her sister has twin boys, who are everything three-year-olds should be. A few weeks ago my daughter announced that she was expecting her third child.

She was thrilled but apprehensive about telling her sister… who took the news well and was delighted.

Then came the hammer blow. A test has shown that the baby is disabled.

Once again we are in the depths of despair.

My daughter is stunned and terrified. She is waiting for further tests to confirm the diagnosis — and every day the baby grows. She has some difficult times ahead of her. I think she will decide to have a termination.

My two adored daughters are absolutely heartbroken.

They come to me in tears and sob on my shoulder. All joy and delight has gone from their faces. I know they are not eating or sleeping. And I can do nothing to help them.

I wake up to a sick, heavy feeling and my heart is weary. What can I say to them? Everything sounds so meaningless, just platitudes.

One day this pain will not be so raw. What they feel now will just become a dull ache.

Miracles might happen. There is always hope. But how can I help them, when my own heart is breaking?

I am a solitary person. My husband died suddenly ten years ago and my parents long ago. I have one brother I rarely see. I have never been good at friends. I don’t drive, so joining clubs is difficult.

I still work, as I can’t afford to retire, but most of my peers have retired and my colleagues are much younger.

I do have a little dog (got as a result of your column actually!) and he senses something is wrong. I rarely cry and am trying to be strong for my darling girls. But I feel so helpless. CAROLE

BELIEVE me, as a mother I well know the pain of such helplessness; I also know that when a parent feels such anguish about the family, they usually allow themselves to become mentally and emotionally ground down and physically run-down.

That is what is happening to you, so my first thought is that in order to be able to help your beloved daughters, you have to take care of yourself.

Your last paragraph reveals a sense of loneliness that perhaps you haven’t been aware of. Why haven’t you been good at making friends? Did you never really recover from your husband’s sudden death, meaning that you withdrew into yourself?

Do you ever suggest a cup or tea or a drink with work colleagues, whether or not they are younger?

Do you ever treat yourself to a facial or a massage or similar treat — because it really can lift the spirits to be touched in a caring, therapeutic way (I hate using the word ‘pampered’, but you know what I mean).

I hope you take that lucky little dog for good walks — not for his sake, but yours, because at a stressful time like this you really do need to be sure you build exercise into your routines.

You may think it odd that I start there and not with your daughters’ problems. But that is because I share your feeling of helplessness.

I have also endured truly terrible, sad, worrying and stressful times within the family since my childhood — and certainly during the lives of my children.

So I really do understand your longing to wave a magic wand and make everything better, as we could when our children were little and a kiss and cuddle would work wonders.

One of the hardest things a parent has to face is the bleak knowledge that such simple ‘cures’ become impossible.

All the love in the world, all the money in the world, all the will in the world could not make things better for the two women who matter most to you.

That truth has to be faced, just as each one of us has to face up to illness, ageing and mortality.

You are trying so hard, I know. Don’t feel you have to come up with philosophical words of comfort for them, because often there are no words — but that’s when the enveloping hug is indeed what’s needed, just as it was when they were five.

You are so sad and worried. But that won’t help them, will it? Most of all you need to be strong — to be there for both of them during this difficult time.

Helpless? No, you are not helpless. So please think about how you take care of yourself — to be a better rock for them.

Now, human respect — you don’t call a man a coward or a liar lightly, but if you spend your life sparing people’s feelings and feeding their vanity, you get so you can’t distinguish what should be respected in them. F.SCOTT FITZGERALD (FROM TENDER IS THE NIGHT, PUBLISHED APRIL 1934