The intense grief of knowing that I will never be a grandmother because BOTH of my arrogant daughters refuse to have children.

There are few things that beat the delight in my heart when I feel the warmth of my grandchildren’s tiny hands clasped in mine; the look of wonder on their faces as we look at the stars in the night sky; their fresh bath smell as we snuggle up in our pajamas before bed.

My grandchildren are my world. Or at least they are in my imagination.

Because although I’m now 61 and surrounded by friends who are basking in the rosy glow of early parenthood, my two daughters – one 34, the other 32 – have both declared with absolute certainty that they never want children of their own.

Simply put, I will never become a grandmother. Six little words that consume me with sadness.

It’s a feeling I can only describe as intense grief – and I should know because my dear husband Mike died of cancer 15 years ago. Although I am learning to cope with this final feeling of loss, I doubt that the day will ever come when it will disappear completely.

Until recently, it never occurred to me that either of my daughters, who both live with their long-term boyfriends, was seriously considering not having children.

Rather, I assumed that they would simply follow in my footsteps, pursuing successful careers while striving to become devoted mothers and give me amazing grandchildren.

Instead, there will be no nurseries in their homes, no strollers at the front door, no babies holding out their arms for my kisses and hugs. It’s heartbreaking.

However, it seems that my girls are not the only ones rejecting motherhood. This week it was revealed that Britain now has the lowest birth rate in history, with an average of 1.44 children per woman of childbearing age in 2023.

But away from the headlines about population numbers and resulting labor shortages, I’m left to speculate that one of the consequences of this social shift is a generation of older women like me devastated that we will never become grandmothers.

My eldest, Amelia, was the first to drop a baby bombshell. Outspoken, feminist and outspoken, she studied politics and economics at university, while her slightly more people-pleasing younger sister Maddie studied English literature, sparking lively discussions around the dinner table at our Warwickshire home when they got their degree. The courses focused on feminism and the expectations of women past and present.

“Why would I bring a child into this world?” Amelia announced during one of these debates. However, she was only 20 at the time, so I dismissed these words as the words of a naive and stubborn student. Of course, she didn’t want children then; she had a great time at university. But I told myself that one day she would meet a wonderful man, fall in love and change her mind.

After all, as children, both Amelia and Maddie loved playing with dolls and strollers and caring for family friends’ babies and toddlers. I interpreted this as an innate maternal instinct.

How wrong I was – or deluded. Not only has Amelia remained firm in her decision, but her little sister now feels the same.

During a family break this summer, Amelia, who has been dating her partner Lewis for eight years, confirmed that parenthood is not for her and that Lewis is on the same wavelength, more interested in pursuing a career in finance. than with procreation. We were eating a roast dinner that we had cooked together in a large cottage we were renting in the Cotswolds when the conversation turned to one of Amelia’s friends who had recently had a baby.

“Having children is not for me,” Amelia said. “This never happened, and now I am more confident than ever.”

Maddie and her partner of six years, Rory, then added that they feel the same way (“I’m just not being a mother, Mum”) and can’t bear the thought of having a baby, citing everything from the rising costs of caring for children to the state of the planet.

Shocked, heartbroken, desperately disappointed. There are so many somber words to convey the emotions I felt that day. I adore children and, as a grandmother, I secretly dreamed of being a mother again, never for a second thinking that I wouldn’t have the opportunity.

Despite feeling broken inside, I reminded myself that it’s not about me, it’s about what they want.

However, I still can’t shake the simple fact that despite all my own successes as a CEO in the publishing industry and the lifestyle that has afforded me, being a mother has undoubtedly brought me the greatest happiness.

Forget about corporate titles and hefty salaries. It will always be my greatest joy and accomplishment to raise two beautiful, compassionate, caring, outspoken, assertive, and intelligent daughters who are now the most incredible companions. More than anything, I would like them to experience the feeling of happiness that they brought me when I became mothers myself.

I also admit that I have long thought that if they had children, sharing this magical and monumental life change would bring us even closer.

Since that conversation, I’ve thought a lot about the decisions Amelia and Maddie made, resisting the urge to think that they might still change their minds. If they were younger or single, such a chance would exist. But now that they’re both in their 30s and in established relationships that have consumed what my generation would call their “childbearing years,” I can’t help but think that if it was meant to happen, it would have happened already.

It seems to me that my girls belong to a generation for which the value and role of a woman does not depend on having a family, as it was for countless previous generations, including mine. Their decisions regarding starting a family (or not) are not subject to the same considerations.

In my late twenties, their father and I got married, taking out a mortgage on the house my parents had helped us buy, and children were at the forefront of our minds. However, the first rung on the property ladder continues to elude my girls, who both rent with their partners.

Even though they both have well-paid careers in the political and economic sectors, it will be years before they feel the financial security that I had at their age. And both cited soaring costs of living and hefty childcare fees among a long list of reasons for not wanting to have children.

In today’s economic climate, they believe, they cannot afford to have children even if they wanted to.

Again, I never thought that money was a reason not to have children. That didn’t stop Mike and I. We made it through, we saved and just got on with it. But money is only one of their reasons.

Motherhood inevitably impacts their career growth and job security. They’ve worked hard, endured low-paying jobs from the start to get where they are today, and they’re much more aware than I was at their age of the grim numbers about how moms are missing out on higher pay, promotions, and senior jobs. jobs. .

Having been disappointed in my own mother, who told me to stop my “stupid career” and start having children before I had children, I can understand their point of view.

Ironically, I can now empathize with my mom more and see her point of view, but I would never make my daughters feel like they were disappointing me—or risk resentment—by repeating her position.

Health problems are another particularly sensitive factor, as they both suffered from anxiety due to the death of their beloved father when they were 19 and 16 years old respectively. Symptoms of acute grief and trauma can resurface during times of heightened emotions, and my daughters are well aware of how many moms suffer from postpartum emotional health issues. For them, the prospect of experiencing this is alarming.

“The world is a scary place, Mom, with all sorts of dangers since we were born,” Amelia told me when she saw my face fall during that summer conversation as she continued to mention such wars, nuclear threats and, in one fine day when the daily level, social networks and smartphones.

While I can come up with answers to all their concerns, ultimately they both stick to their mantra: “Motherhood just isn’t for me.”

In my personal life, there are other reasons why I feel devastated at the thought of never becoming a grandmother. At the age of 19, I became pregnant after a short affair and had an abortion. Although it was the right decision under the circumstances, for years I convinced myself that I would one day be punished for it, imagining that I would meet the right man, only to discover that we could not have children.

Years after Mike and I found out I was expecting Amelia, doctors told us at my 12-week scan that they believed the baby growing inside me had no heartbeat. I thought it was retribution.

Luckily they were wrong and six months later I was holding my beautiful baby girl in my arms. But when you’re faced with the prospect of losing or not having a child, it makes you want it even more. Perhaps this is why I am so desperate for grandchildren.

The girls and I don’t talk about it much – I feel like it would be selfish to tell them they’re wrong when they’re smart young women who know their own minds, the way I raised them – but they know I’m disappointed.

Looking at a future without grandchildren evokes a variety of emotions.

Jealousy is one of them. Numerous friends and acquaintances now have grandchildren and, my God, how I envy them. It hurts my heart when they proudly show me pictures of their growing broods on their phones and tell me stories about their little ones spending the nights and weekends.

They tell me that being a grandparent is like experiencing that all-consuming, joyful, intense love of motherhood again, without the daily grind of raising children.

Sounds absolutely wonderful.

Everywhere I look – in the supermarket, in the park or in the doctor’s surgery – there are beaming grandparents with children in tow. And it hurts.

I often look back longingly to the precious, happy times when Amelia and Maddie were growing up, our house and garden always occupied by their friends, our calendars full of Sunday morning bike rides, teddy bear picnics and memory-filled holidays in Cornwall. where I would see a miracle through their eyes… What I would give to experience the same thing again with my grandchildren.

How can I imagine being a grandparent? Naughty and a little naughty, pamper them with love and allow them to do things that their mother forbids, such as eating chocolate cake for dinner and going to bed an hour later. But I would also be a wise person they could turn to for advice and comfort when they are worried, sad, or faced with important decisions.

This is exactly how my own mother, now in her 80s, has always acted with my girls, showering them with love and creating the most wonderful and lasting bond with them both.

Because of the loss of my husband and the loss of the opportunity to have grandchildren, my future is very different from the idyllic old age I once imagined. While I know there’s no chance of Amelia changing her mind, I can’t deny that I’m clinging to the distant hope that Maddie, who has a softer side, might change her mind one day. But recently she looked at me and very softly said, “I can’t imagine that happening, Mom.”

And so, with pain in my heart, I can experience simple pleasures that I once considered undoubted – baking cakes with my grandchildren, preparing picnics together, reading fairy tales before bed – only in my dreams.

• Names have been changed
• AS SADIE TOLD NICHOLAS