When my daughter was in third grade, her teacher had the class make Father’s Day cards. Often, though, it was the smallest incidents that blindsided me. Over time, I learned to prepare for certain events. When I stopped, she said, “You know you are only taking the shuttle to DC, right?” I called my friend and listed everything she needed to know about my daughter: her teacher’s name, the pediatrician’s phone number, where I stashed an emergency duplicate of a favorite blanket. The next year, when I had to fly alone for the first time, I had a panic attack on the way to the airport. The anxiety of parenting without a net didn’t subside, though. Two weeks later, the biopsies came back benign. That afternoon, I went home, called a lawyer, and soon made one, naming a close friend as my child’s legal guardian. I don’t know what would happen to my daughter if I got sick.”
“My husband just died, and I don’t have a Plan B. “Will you please let me do my job?” she finally said, clearly annoyed. Every time she hovered on one spot, I panicked and said, “Did you find something?” I lay on the examining table while she ran the wandlike transducer over my skin. “Nothing to worry about,” she said, “but let’s just check it out.” Soon after my husband died, my doctor found a suspicious lump in my breast. Still, there were times when I felt utterly alone. It’s not surprising that single parents have suffered higher rates of anxiety, depression and loneliness than parents from other households.Īfter my husband died when my daughter was 5, I was lucky to have friends and family nearby who helped. The pandemic has left even the most connected of us isolated, searching for support. Whatever the reason, I can promise you that nearly every one of them has had a lying-on-the-bathroom-floor moment, waiting alone for the morning to come. 80 percent of those households are headed by single mothers: single mothers by choice, circumstance, bad relationships or early widowhood. I watched from the doorway as she headed off into the long evening ahead.Īccording to a recent study by Pew research, the United States has among the highest rates of children living in single parent homes in the world. She sighed, stroking her daughter’s head. “You just have to get through the night,” I said. It didn’t occur to me until years later that the world wouldn’t have ended if my daughter missed a day of school.” I went home, called in sick to work and slept. Eventually, I managed to take her in a cab with a plastic bag in my purse in case I threw up.
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trying to figure out how to get her to school in the morning. I remember a time when my daughter was 6, and I had a bad stomach bug. “How did you do it? I’m not sure I can make it through another night.” “My daughter is grown now, but it was hard enough without a pandemic.” “People say they understand what it’s like, but they don’t. Besides, no one is really going indoors right now.” Her eyes bored into mine. I asked if she had met any other new mothers in the neighborhood who might offer support. “My family doesn’t live here and I have a rent-stabilized one-bedroom apartment so I can’t afford to move.”
She blinked before blurting out, “I’m a single mother and I work from home and my babysitter didn’t show up and my daughter is teething and I’ve been up for three nights in a row all alone.” Her mouth quivered as she struggled to keep control. Instead, she stood in the hallway, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. There was a new variant everyone was wary. She resettled her baby while considering her options.
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