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This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Peter Danes. It has been edited for length and clarity.
My wife, Alison, was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer in 2012 — the same year she gave birth to our daughter, Annabel.
She died four years later at 39, just six months after our wedding when Annabel served as our little bridesmaid.
It was tough. But if you're facing the awful reality of losing the person you parented with, you have to somehow get out of bed every morning and cope.
It means that you don't have as much time to focus on your own grief. Instead, your priority is ensuring your child is happy, healthy, and feeling loved.
Annabel started the routine of school a week after her mom died. In a way, it was a distraction. I sometimes think I wouldn't have made it if she hadn't been here.
I learned that creating a village for my daughter was key. It's mostly populated by her blood relatives — including her grandparents — and two other single parents of girls and one of their friends.
We jokingly call it our "dysfunctional family," or DF. We go on vacations together and take turns doing things like Sunday lunches. It's a loving, nurturing environment in which she can flourish.
By nature, children learn things by example. You show them how to do something rather than tell them. I want Annabel to be surrounded by kind, empathetic, driven people that she can look up to as role models.
I'm very conscious that, as a man, I can never step into the shoes of a mother. It sounds sexist, but the loss of a mom is different from the loss of a dad, particularly for girls.
Your mom is traditionally the one you run to when you are hurt, the one who instinctively gives hugs. And, as your daughter grows, she has to navigate the challenges of becoming a woman. You want to help. But, as a dad, you sometimes feel like a non-driver trying to teach your child to drive.
Courtesy of Peter Danes
Annabel and I are lucky because we can "outsource" some of the things we need. We're a multi-generational family of uncles, aunts, nieces, nephews and cousins. She has a circle of trusted adults she can ask for advice, even if they're just sounding boards for when she gets frustrated with me.
I've got it wrong so many times. I've tried to overcompensate by buying her crap she doesn't need. I never bought her a horse or anything like that, but there have been times when I thought giving her stuff would help fill the void.
But you learn from your mistakes. When a child has lost their parent, there's nothing you can do to replace them.
Meanwhile, in most family dynamics, there's usually the fun parent and the strict one. I have to be both. But, on balance, Annabel probably gets away with a lot more stuff than she would have done if her mom was around.
If she needs a cuddle at 10 p.m., she can have one. It's not the end of the world if she stays up late so she can video chat with her grandparents in Australia. She might be a bit tired the next morning. But she's a bright kid. She'll be fine.
My parenting has become the "whatever it takes to get through the day" style of parenting. What other people think of you is far down the list of worries. But that doesn't mean I let my daughter get away with everything. There is no excuse for bad behavior.
Still, the biggest lesson I've learned as a widowed father is to grab the opportunities you're offered with both hands — and to encourage your child to do the same. Live your life to the fullest for the person who has died.
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