Recently, I had a heart-wrenching parental experience: I had to be the bearer of some very bad news to my 3-year-old daughter. I walked slowly into the sunroom where my daughter was playing, dragging my feet like a man with a ball and chain shackled to his ankles. I called my daughter’s name. We sat down together on the couch, and, collecting my courage, I said, “Honey, Daisy died last night.”
It took my daughter a few seconds to process what I was saying—that our family dog was gone. She fell into my arms, dissolved into tears, and whimpered, “I want my dog back, I want her back.”
