Good Bye Scooby Doo

March 13, 2013, was the worst day of my life.

The previous week had consisted of a whirlwind of speculation, worry, physical exams and blood tests as we tried to figure out what was wrong with our 12-year-old dog. Finally, after our veterinarian told Tanya that Scooby Doo’s kidney failure was beyond treatment, we made the agonizing decision to ensure that he wouldn’t suffer any more.

The day and night before we put Scooby down, Tanya, Ella, Sophia and I spent hours huddled around our furry buddy, who had become a shadow of his normal animated self. We endlessly stroked him from head to tail and told him how much we loved him. We reminisced and laughed about his rambunctious puppy days and went through boxes of Kleenex.

Ella, who has known Scooby for the nine-plus years she’s been alive, petted his head and said: “Scooby, you’ll always be in my heart forever.”

Sophia, Ella’s 7-year-old sister, told him, “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

A friend of mine who had recently lost his dog told me to make sure we “managed the kids on this one,” as their immaturity might make the grieving process an onerous one. So we did. Through our own torrent of tears, Tanya and I lie on the floor with our kids and our ailing dog and reassured Ella and Sophia that heaven would be a wonderful place for Scooby Doo after he died. Trying to fulfill our roles as responsible parents, we consoled and cuddled without limits.

Then something strange happened.

Me, Sophia, and Scooby Doo

As Tanya and I continued to weep our way through the pain, Ella and Sophia became our helpers. I broke down while looking at old photos, while making dinner, and while updating family and friends about Scooby’s condition, and Sophia gave me just what I needed. “It’ll be OK, Dad,” she said.

When Tanya sat on the couch and sobbed, Ella crawled into whatever space she could find next to her mom, and they cried together.

I learned several things from my amazing kids during our tough time. Compassion has no age boundary. Family dynamics work best when the threads come from multiple directions. Love and support can surprise you with their power, especially when they come from unexpected places.

Later that night, in a rare dry-eye interlude, I sat at the computer typing a Facebook post. I watched Sophia creep up to Scooby and gently rub his back. Then, fully composed, she said, “Dad, I don’t want to get another dog for a while. I’m going to need some time to remember Scooby.”

My emotions poured forth yet again, but it wasn’t only from grief. I felt proud that my daughters had summoned the courage to help their parents, and not the other way around. I realized I needed them as much as they needed me, and together our entire family was able to endure the loss of a loved one.

There will always be a hole in my heart, but because of my kids, each day gets a little better.