Suddenly I was a single dad-of-three, after being widowed twice

After losing his first wife in 2014 and his second in 2020, Martin Eggleston, 51, a tour guide from Oxfordshire, sank into deep grief. But his three children helped him find the joy in life again. Here, Martin shares why fatherhood saved him.

This my fourth Father’s Day since I became a single dad-of-three, and whilst I’m looking forward to a cup of tea in bed and a card, my children know grand gestures aren’t necessary. My journey to this role I have today has been painful and poignant, at times it has felt like a dark tunnel with no light at the end.

However, of the many lessons I’ve learned along the way, it’s that it’s who is with you on special days like these that really matters.

Sometimes, when I tell people I was widowed twice in seven years, they find it hard to believe. Even I still struggle to comprehend how I can have lost not just one woman I deeply loved, but two. If it weren’t for the fact they left me with three wonderful children, I’m really not sure how I would have survived my grief.

Becoming a single dad not only gave me a reason to carry on, it gave my life – after such terrible loss – joy and purpose.

Marrying my soulmate

In 1999, I met my first wife Jane through a mutual friend. Beautiful, kind and caring, I felt so lucky to have found her, and we married in 2002.

I look back at photos from our wedding day, and the enormous smiles on both our faces, and I remember how I firmly believed we had our whole lives ahead of us, to spend loving one another forever.

Four years later, our daughter Amy was born and life felt complete. For the first two years of Amy’s life we were so happy, living a very normal, uneventful, life as a family of three.

Then, in the summer of 2008, Jane found a lump in her left breast. She was just 39 and it was Stage 4 cancer. She had chemotherapy, radiotherapy and a single mastectomy, and spent 18 months in remission before the cancer returned in 2011, and we were given the devastating news it was terminal.

For me, the hardest thing to bear was Jane’s sorrow. She knew she was going to miss out on watching Amy grow up, and all those precious milestones she should’ve enjoyed as her mum – her graduation, wedding day, what career she would embark upon, becoming a mother herself.

Jane knew Amy was going to live her life without her, and it devastated her – and me.

Suddenly alone

Six years after she was originally diagnosed, Jane died in February 2014. I was utterly heartbroken.

Amy was just seven when her mum passed away. Because Jane had been so poorly – both from the cancer and the treatment for it – on a practical level, I was already used to being very involved and 'hands on' as a father.

It wasn’t that side of things which fazed me, it was the realisation I was solely responsible for guiding this little girl through life, being both dad and mum to her. It felt overwhelming. And I truly did believe it would just be me and Amy.

I was only 41 but I was adamant I didn’t want to have another relationship. My pain was so great, I didn’t feel I could ever open my heart again to love someone else. I also didn’t think anyone would want me, a widower with a young child.

Jane had told me before she died that I should live a full life, and look for someone else, but I only wanted her.

I devoted myself to Amy, supporting her through her grief and doing my best to give her a happy life, despite what she’d been through.

Finding support

It was through the charity WAY (Widowed and Young) that I met other widowers and widows who’d been hurt like I had, but gone on to love again. I saw that they refused to allow their loss to dictate their future happiness, and I began to wonder if perhaps, one day, I could open up to someone else.

I knew it would take an incredibly special woman though, as she’d have to accept my love for Jane, which would always be part of me, and that I had a child.

In 2015, on an online forum for the widowed, that special woman came into my life. Kirsty was a widow, her husband had died in 2013, and she had two little boys, Daniel and Luke, then aged nine and two.

Our online chats switched to real life, and we began to spend time together as two families.

The children got on really well and I felt so comfortable with Kirsty, able to be myself and know she understood exactly what I’d been through, because she’d walked the same path.

Neither of us felt threatened by the other’s love for their deceased spouse, we knew there was room in our hearts for us, and them.

Falling in love again

In March 2016, Kirsty and I married in Abingdon, then honeymooned in California, along with the three children.

Now a blended family, Kirsty and I applied for parental responsibility for each other’s children, and I was so happy. Cancer had stopped Jane and I having more children, and now I had not only Amy, but two sons as well.

I felt like I’d been given a second chance at lasting happiness, but in December 2019, my world came crashing down for a second time when Kirsty found a lump in her right breast. I felt it, and I just knew it was cancer. I could barely take in that this was happening again.

A year later, in December 2020, despite treatment, Kirsty died aged 47. It was so quick and she was incredibly brave.

Widowed dad-of-three

Amy was 14 when Kirsty died, Daniel and Luke were 15 and eight. Their collective loss and grief was enormous, and for a time I struggled greatly.

I got up in the morning, meals were made, clothes were washed and I made sure they did their schoolwork, but I felt like I wasn’t really present.

My shock and sadness saw me spiral into an emotional black hole and I drank too much to numb my pain. I couldn’t understand what I’d done to deserve this.

It took time but as the fog began to lift a little, I realised I was all these three children had.

Their mothers had entrusted them to me, and they deserved better than a father who was just about coping, and nothing more.

It’s been the four of us for three and a half years now and life has evolved from 'just getting by' to living a full and happy life. We’ve thrived as a family unit, and I feel very proud of that.

Of course, there are moments when I feel the huge weight of responsibility on my shoulders and it hits me how many hats I’m wearing. I am dad, mum, the one they turn to for comfort, the disciplinarian, the breadwinner and the confidante.

Living for the moment

And as they all get older, guiding them through the challenges of teenage life, friendships, exams, as well as the grief they still carry, on my own, is a lot to manage.

However, my mantra is 'the good times are now' because I know how quickly life can change.

Having witnessed both Jane and Kirsty’s sorrow that they wouldn’t get to see their children grow up, I know every day with them is a privilege.

When we celebrate birthdays, exam results, or go on a break together, two people are always missing and we all experience the bittersweetness of those moments. However, the children and I know we must seize life with both hands and look to the future, because Jane and Kirsty were denied that opportunity.

Without my children, I can’t imagine how bleak and empty life would be.

Fatherhood saved me after losing the love of my life, twice, and despite everything, I feel so lucky.

For support and information go to Widowedandyoung.org.uk.

Read more

Woman who was widowed at 22 travels the world to complete her late husband’s bucket list (Yahoo Life UK, 5-min read)

What to do if you find a lump in your breast (Yahoo Life UK, 6-min read)

Sarah Beeny and other celebrities who have shared their breast cancer journey (Yahoo Life UK, 7-min read)