• I had my two kids by the time I was 30 and was hoping to be a young grandparent.
• When my ex-husband and I divorced, it took time for me and my kids to heal.
• My daughter has decided she doesn't want kids, and my son isn't sure.

My mom had her three kids early, and we were out of the house by the time she was in her mid-40s. Her freedom inspired me, and I believed the best way to enjoy midlife was to have the children I always wanted earlier rather than later.

I met my now ex-husband in college, and we dated all four years of undergrad. My daughter was born in December 1981, when I was 22 — the same year we finished school. Our son was born in 1988, at the same time my husband graduated and was slated to start a surgery residency. I was 28. Our kids' births coincided with education milestones that were associated with moving to the next stage of life.

The first part of what I wanted was set. By 30, I had two kids, and they were more than four years apart, so we wouldn't have to pay double college tuition in the future. After having them, I still had plenty of time to focus on my own dreams later on. I figured that when I was ready to focus on myself, my kids would be fairly independent. Then, I'd still be young enough to enjoy grandkids when my own kids started that chapter of their lives.

My freedom precipitated the end of my marriage

After working at a long-term job that provided well for my family but was not my ideal — while my husband spent 10 years fulfilling his dream of becoming a surgeon — I turned my efforts toward my own goals. I wanted to lose 50 pounds and recover from long years of putting in long hours. My kids were teens and I also decided I wanted to quit my job to spend more time with them.

After I left my job, I took up belly dancing and started building a freelance writing business. I assumed I would have several years of fun parenting before the kids left for college, but then I got the first hint that our family would not have the future I imagined.

While I was focusing more on my own life, my husband started to resent me for pouring more energy into myself and earning less than he did. His attitude surprised and confused me. Five years later, we separated and eventually divorced.

Taking the necessary time to heal interrupted the family timeline

Both children were surprised by the divorce, but it hit my daughter the hardest. She was away in her first year of college and didn't know I had been barely holding things together to see her through high school. Her father had been engaged in an affair before we separated, and I just wanted to get her safely off to school before telling him to leave.

My kids never imagined there was anything their mom couldn't handle, but the shift completely upended our whole household. Healing was slow as we grieved the dreams and security that evaporated with the end of our family as we knew it. My son's college application process fell through the cracks after he had pulled himself together and done well in high school. I had to apologize to him for this and other disappointments.

My daughter told me recently that all the turmoil had a negative effect on her belief that she could find a good partner who would also be a good co-parent. The delay in getting her career underway also put her at a financial disadvantage for having children. Her best friend used IVF to have a child, which she is raising alone, and my daughter toyed briefly with the idea but ultimately decided against it.

For complicated reasons, the three of us have no extended family to rely on. She knows she cannot do it alone, so the burden of helping her raise a child would weigh heavily on me. We are both wistful about her decision because it means that my daughter is the last one in my direct matrilineal line.

My son resents being behind the eight ball, career-wise, but has also shared with me that he feels the weight of rescuing our family from what he called "genetic oblivion." He is a warm and compassionate man, and I have told him explicitly that I am confident he would make a great dad. He recognizes that his family will need to look after his sister after I die because she won't have a daughter to keep her company the way my kids do for me. He may have children, but it isn't guaranteed.

• It took me a while to accept that I wouldn't have my own kids.
• I finally realized I liked having my own time; I could dote on my friends' kids and then come home.
• Now, as my friends have grandchildren, I'm accepting I won't be a grandmother.

A few weeks ago, I attended a baby shower my friend held for her daughter. After we ate, someone passed cards around, asking the guests to share parenting advice. I stared at the card blankly. What advice did I have to give? I'd never had children. I had thoughts but no real experience. I jotted down a few one-word responses.

Later, after we answered trivia questions on the various milestones in babies' first year, I listened as newly minted mothers and grandmothers shouted out answers. I didn't know a single answer. Twenty-five years earlier, I might have left that party in tears, saddened by the fact that I'd never been a mom and would now never be a grandmother.

Eventually, I realized I could be happy without becoming a parent

I clearly remember the day I came to terms with not realizing my long-held dream of having children. I was 44 and had just returned from a day in Central Park with one of my best friends and her 2-year-old son. The little boy had tired me out, and I truly felt happy to come home, lie on the couch, snuggle with my dog, and have the rest of the day to myself.

I already had loving relationships with my other best friend's two kids, so knowing that I would have the privilege of watching the three kids grow up and being part of their lives was enough for me. I could love them and attend their recitals, concerts, and graduations, yet still have the time and freedom to travel the world and thrive in a career that involved late nights and weekly business trips.

A few months after one of those kids got married, she handed me a picture of a sonogram and told me her baby girl was due in six months. Of course, I cried with joy. But, in the ensuing weeks, I started to wonder what role I would get to play in that little girl's life. I knew I was important to her mother. I had, after all, just been given an honorary role at her wedding. But the baby already had two grandmothers, and I knew my best friend would be an especially devoted one. Would I be described as her aunt in air quotes when she tried to explain me to her friends?

No, I won't be a grandmother, but that's OK

I knew this was just the start of a new era in my life. I worried I would feel the stabs of pain and regret every time someone announced their daughter, daughter-in-law, or stepdaughter was pregnant — the same pangs I felt when my friends shared their own news of impending motherhood. Would it hurt each time my phone dinged with a newly texted photo or addition to a shared album, the way it did when my friends encouraged me to flip through the pages of their "brag books"?

I needn't have worried. I easily found a place in the little girl's life. Her mother, just like her grandmother, believed the more people that loved this child, the better. If I wanted to shower her baby with love, she was willing to let me do so. Not having the same work and travel obligations I had when my friends were raising their kids, I could spend even more time with this baby.

I made sure to visit weekly to get my baby fix and let this child know I would always be a part of her life. Soon we were having dance parties in the park, brunch and dinner dates around Manhattan, and messy bake-offs in her grandmother's kitchen. If you ask her who I am to her, I am just her Ilene. I'm fine with that.

It's a win-win for everyone. I get the joy of spending time with her and now her 1-year-old brother; they both have one more person to love them. My friend gets a break from grandparent duties, and my friend's daughter has one more person in the village to help raise her kids.