When my husband died, I also lost some of my ability to be a parent. Years later, I'm finally the mom my daughters need.

• My husband died when I was just 46, leaving me to parent our two daughters alone.
• My youngest struggled with depression, and I wrongly leaned on my oldest for support.

It happened two weeks before Christmas. My husband rose early and surprised me and my 14-year-old daughter with bagels. While we slathered on the cream cheese, he headed outside to check on the Christmas lights he'd hung on the house. When he came back inside, he looked pale. He collapsed into a chair in the family room and went into what I later learned was sudden cardiac arrest. He died shortly after.

He was 50. I was 46. He left me a widow after 20 years of marriage. He also left me in charge of our two daughters, who were 14 and 18.

As I worked through my grief, I eventually learned that I would have to become my family's new protector.

Right after my husband's death, I struggled to emotionally support my family

My younger daughter never cried after her father died. She retreated into herself and slipped into a depression.

I brought her to grief-counseling sessions, but they just weren't cutting it. She became more despondent, and instead of accepting and addressing her problems, I put on Band-Aids. I ran to school after hours to fetch books she'd forgotten. I wrote notes to teachers explaining away the increasing number of missed assignments. But the truth was that she needed to properly work through the trauma of her grief.

As her situation escalated, I wrongly turned to her older sister for help. I treated my older daughter as a pseudo-parent, a stand-in for my husband. I ignored her grief, thinking she'd be a partner in solving her sister's — and my — problems. Of course, she was grieving, too. Over time, a rift between us grew.

It took me several years to find the inner strength to be the protective parent my husband would want me to be

First I had to unlearn some bad behavior, like relying on my older daughter for help with my youngest. I began working with a good therapist to learn about boundaries and how to be there for my children — without fear or expectations.

I eventually realized I needed to take on the role of protector, a role my husband always held. Seeking to advocate for my younger daughter in the face of her emotional issues, I joined support groups and pored over research.

My youngest eventually needed medical intervention. I stood up to the hospital and emergency personnel when I felt they didn't have her best interests at heart.

With my oldest, I finally accepted that I was trying to replace my husband's authority by giving it to her instead of taking it on myself, because I was scared I'd fail. My oldest and I navigated many difficult conversations. Eventually she was able to forgive me, and we repaired our rift.

Gradually I grew into my new role. My children's trust in me grew, too. They started to look at me like they once looked at their dad: as a parent and protector.

Over time, I became a confident person who held our family together

I still get melancholy around the holidays, vacillating between embracing the season and ignoring it — especially when the holiday music starts piping through the supermarket.

Even though I still have work to do and I can never totally fill his shoes, I'm finally secure in the knowledge that my late husband would approve of the woman — and parent — I've become.