The Transition to Single Parenthood: Tips for Survivors

I wrote this piece for Pittsburgh’s Child after my late wife’s death in 1994, but I’ve had a lot of requests since. So here’s the original; remember that it’s been a long time now and I’m currently happy and living on Long Island with my wife Andrea and our three sons.

I am a survivor in two ways. Like anyone who has bumped around this planet for a while, I’ve learned how to land on my feet. In addition, my late wife Pamela died suddenly and unexpectedly a few years ago, leaving me with two young boys.

As a consultant, I’ve helped many organizations through their transitions, but this time I had to apply what I knew to help myself and my family through our personal journey to life without mom. Along the way, I learned some things I’d like to share with you, in the event that—God forbid!—you find yourself in my place.

Tell your children the truth. The hardest thing a parent must do is tell his or her children that mommy or daddy has died. But they have to hear it straight. No euphemisms. I made a point to tell even my one-year-old that “Mommy has died, and she can’t be with us any more.” (It didn’t help that I weaned him in the process.) It’s important to communicate the finality of death, especially with younger children who may confuse mommy’s (daddy’s) absence with having gone away in a car, soon to return. Stress that you’re here for them, and that they will be taken care of. While you cannot give guarantees, you can make sure they know they are loved and will be cared for. In this ambiguous time, children are especially vulnerable to insecurity and fear in addition to their sadness. Respect them with the truth; comfort them with your support.

Put temporary structures in place. Children need structure, especially after a sudden loss. Usually the best you can do is create makeshift structures until the immediate crisis is over. I was able to extend our carpool for the kids and increase the time our one-year old spent with his regular sitter. I tapped into the school’s mommy network for regular play dates for our four-year old. I rigorously scheduled the two months between Pam’s death and the Christmas holidays, so I would know exactly where the kids were, who they were with, and when. And they did, too. That kind of structure provided a ground base that helped all of us through the most difficult time. It also bought me time to think about how I wanted my children cared for, so I could put more permanent services into place.

Don’t cancel any plans. The sooner you can practice the new behaviors and routines you’ll face as a single parent, the better. When Pamela died, people expected me to cancel birthday parties, the Christmas party we give annually for charity, and a host of other things. I chose to continue those events, which turned out to be a great help in my learning what life would be like as a single parent. They gave me a way to honor the life that Pamela and I shared, and help me begin to say good-bye. They also gave my children a road map for their new lives, and reinforced that life continues, even if differently.

In once sense, I was lucky. In the three months following Pam’s death, I had two birthdays, a Christmas party, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, chicken pox for two, pneumonia and infections, and a vacation. By the turn of the year, I had experienced many of the things I will experience as a single parent, and survived them (somehow). If you can create or keep obligations for three months after your spouse’s death, you’re more likely to be successful for the remainder of the time. It’s a case of the glass half-empty or half-full; it depends on when you’re looking at it.

Generate things for people to do. When untimely death occurs, everyone wants to help, but they don’t know how. They want to connect to your grief and honor your loss, to share and support. Unfortunately, I had no answers until a couple of days after Pam’s death. Then I started thinking about the things that would be harder with one parent. I asked people to call me before making store runs, to see if I needed anything. I asked people to take my laundry and cleaning along with theirs whenever they went. I asked people not to get discouraged if I didn’t need anything, and to call back.

Take time to honor your loss. If you’re like me, you rise to the occasion when everything and everyone is falling apart around you. That’s effective in times of crisis, but it doesn’t heal the heart or the soul. Take time for yourself regularly, either alone or with a close friend and supporter. Each night, I spent one of the hours my wife and I shared just to talk with her and experience my own loss. On Pam’s birthday, after getting the kids to bed, I shared with her our traditional bottle of Piper Sonoma Blanc de Noir. We cannot deny our feelings, yet in the thick of trying to help our children through their loss, we often leave ourselves behind. What gets put off today will haunt us tomorrow.

Use symbol and ritual to help you honor your spouse. Since Pamela died near Christmas time, I was faced with decorating the house myself. Of the window lights we usually put in place, I lit only the single light on our third floor. I had thought the gesture only for me until a neighbor told me it was a wonderful way to honor Pamela. Think about the rituals and things you do as a family, and continue them. They take on special meaning when you’re alone, and they honor your relationship and your spouse.

Get professional help. When my wife died, I called Kathy McCallister of the Gestalt Center of Pittsburgh, with whom I had worked over the past few years as part of my consulting practice. I told her what had happened, that I hadn’t fallen apart yet, that I probably would, and that I wanted her there. Reaching out helped me take time for my loss and made sure I dealt with my own grieving completely and healthily. Grieving is not about our spouses, but about us, and embracing the grief is the only way to move through it.

Take advantage of serendipity. During the weeks following Pam’s death, we chanced across the children’s film The Land Before Time. It’s a story about a baby dinosaur who loses his mother and has to make a journey to the Green Valley, a metaphor for the journey of life. My kids watched the movie many times, and at some level identified with the baby dino. Serendipitous happenings like these offer a way to help your children through their own loss, so they can see their journey from a broader perspective.

All these are things I did, sometimes consciously and sometimes unconsciously. They also are practices that I’ve seen work with adults going through transition in their organizations. I developed my own; you will find yours. Remember, though, that your children’s well-being comes first, and your own is a close second. You are your children’s hope—and ground base—for the future. Nurture that hope, for everyone’s sake.

Originally Printed in Pittsburgh’s Child, 1996