I had one of those reality check moments the other day. I was at a meeting for one of the many activities the kids are in, and as we were trying to work out some complicated logistics, one of the moms commented that the schedule just wouldn’t work for any single parents. Internally, I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that I didn’t have to worry about that, and then it hit me smack in the face that, yep, suddenly, I was a single parent, and I did have to worry.

Rest assured, between family and friends, all my bases are well beyond covered when it comes to getting the kids where they need to be, so I am still avoiding that aspect of the single parent juggle, but that was the moment that it really sank in that for all intents and purposes, I’m now a single parent.

One of the conversations that Steve and I had before we got married was that when we had kids, that was it. We were together for life, no matter what. It was a relatively easy conversation to have. Neither one of us was at all interested in part-time parenting in any way, shape or form. We agreed before we ever got married that separation or divorce was simply not an option.

In the 16 years that we were married, I can honestly say, I never once considered ending our marriage. Sure, I had a handful of times where I walked out of the room, steam pouring out of my ears. Sure, I went to bed angry plenty of times. Sure, there were times when fights escalated and carried on for hours longer than they should have. But, at the end of the day, I am most fortunate that each of us truly meant what we said when we made our vows to each other, and in the end, only death separated us.

I realize that everyone has to make their own decisions and do what is right for their family, and their situation, and what worked for us probably wouldn’t work for a lot of people. I was incredibly lucky to meet someone who had the same core values and priorities that I did when it came to our family. I guess because parenting without Steve had never been something I considered before, the cold, hard reality of it is hitting me doubly hard now, because I never expected it to happen, and I never had a plan for how to make it happen.

One of the ways I miss him the most is in his role of good cop/bad cop. We had a finely tuned system: I was always the bad cop, and he was always the good cop. While the kids are surprised to hear me say this, they are equating Steve’s robust temper with him being the bad cop. Like everything Steve did, his temper could be larger than life. So, when he lost it, it was memorable.

But, 800 times a day, the kids would push the envelope with him and he would play right along with them. It’s one of the reasons that simple jobs around the house turned into daylong projects. He was always going off on tangents or starting other small projects with them.

I was always the one putting my foot down that it was time to practice an instrument, do homework, clean a bedroom, or get to bed, and Steve sulked off just as badly as the kids did, because his fun was over too. Thrust into the unfamiliar role of the good cop, I just let everything slide. The other night, E was sending me funny YouTube videos, and I realized that it was a good two and a half hours past her bedtime. My quick switch of gears had her in tears in an instant and I regretted saying anything. However, losing two hours of sleep wasn’t going to help her emotional state either.

This kind of single parenting presents its own kind of challenges. I’ve started looking up “how to” information on single parenting, and I am so grateful that I don’t have to contend with a deadbeat partner, or a custody fight, or any of those awful situations. While my kids are struggling enough with why Dad was taken from us too soon, at least they don’t have to deal with him actively making a choice to walk out of their lives. He was the very best dad right up until the end and I know, if he had any choice in the matter, he never would have left.

I’m just struck over and over again how different Steve and I were in our approaches to parenting and raising our children, and yet how well we meshed and created what I feel was a pretty balanced lifestyle for them. Most of all, I am realizing how incredibly special it was for my kids to have two parents who loved and supported them unconditionally all the time. As I’m fighting with my own emotions constantly, I worry that they’ve lost not one, but two supportive and stable parents.

Right now, I worry that my kids’ lives are like a giant Jenga tower. We’ve pulled out the biggest, most supportive piece at the very heart of the tower, and the framework holding the rest of it up is precarious at best. I’m trying the best I can to expand to fill in all the cracks, but there just isn’t enough of me to manage. I worry about what piece will shake loose next and bring things crashing down around us.

I worry about another outside force colliding with us and sending everything sprawling. I worry that there is no one at home to preheat the oven for some frozen pizza when I forget to throw dinner in the slow cooker. I worry that I no longer have someone who understands what needs to happen when one of my meetings runs late, and the whole evening of activities experiences a shift. I worry that there is no one here to tell me I’m being too hard, or too easy, on the kids.

I know plenty of other families who manage to make things work and eventually, we will find our way. Our Jenga tower might not be as sturdy as it once was, and it’s definitely going to look a lot different from how it did before, but one by one, we’ll start stacking the pieces up again.

Liz Pinkey is a contributing writer to the Times News. Her column appears weekly in our Saturday feature section.