One of the memorable essays in the field of sociology in recent years was entitled “Portnoy’s Mother’s Complaint” by Pauline Bart. A young social worker describes her assignment of interviewing a fifty-year-old woman who has been admitted to the hospital, suffering from severe depression. The woman was manifesting an extreme case of the “empty-nest syndrome.” Her children had grown up and moved away, and she felt deprived of the only role that had ever given her life meaning. She had become so depressed that she had herself hospitalized. But what is fascinating about the interview is that “Mrs. Portnoy” (the doting but rejected mother) is not comfortable having the social worker asking her questions. She does not simply want to tell her story of how ungrateful and uncaring her children are. She insists on asking question of the social worker: “Are you married? Why are you so thin? Do you live by yourself? Do you cook your own meals? You really ought to take better care of yourself, eat more fruit, get out in the fresh air. Here, would you like a chocolate?”

When she is asked to talk about her own life, “Mrs. Portnoy” comes across as apathetic and depressed. She sighs, she shrugs, there is no enthusiasm in her voice. But when she can turn the table and “interview” the social worker, she becomes animated. She cannot get excited at the prospect of her children visiting her in the hospital or of getting a weekend pass to go home, but the prospect of going shopping to help the social worker buy a new dress excites her.

“Mrs. Portnoy” needs someone to mother. That is the only way she knows to define herself as a useful, competent person. She needs to be surrounded by people who need her and are grateful for her advice. When the last child struck out on his own, “Mrs. Portnoy” found herself “fired” from the only job she had ever known. Fifteen or twenty years sooner than it would happen to a man, she finds herself involuntarily retired from the commitment that gave her life meaning, and her depression and sense of worthlessness resemble the reaction of the older worker forced into retirement. That is why she responds as she does to the appearance of the young social worker. “If you really want to help me,” she seems to be saying, “you won’t help me by taking a case history and finding hobbies for me. You will help me by letting me adopt you as a daughter, fuss over you, worry about you, give you advice. I do it well, I need to do it, and frankly from the looks of you, you could probably benefit from it. So put away your notebook, stand up straight, don’t wear so much makeup, wear brighter colors, take me home to cook some chicken soup for you. You’ll see, we’ll both be happier”.

A life without people, without the same people day after day, people who belong to us, people who will be there for us, people who need us and whom we need in return may be very rich in other things, but in human terms, it is no life at all.