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The Night Snoopy Saved the Day (and Dad's Heart)
They say spiders cry, but let me tell you, the real tears flowed freely in May 2013. My wife, the kids (a firecracker of a girl at 7 and a budding baseball star at 9), all gone. The only thing missing was a tumbleweed rolling through the empty house. Except... the kids weren't gone forever. Every other weekend, they'd come stay with me, a bittersweet reminder of the gaping hole in our family.
One such visit, after they'd snuggled into bed, a wave of loneliness crashed over me. Curled up in my room, a sniffle escaped, echoing in the quiet house. The pitter-patter of tiny feet and the familiar scent of Snoopy's well-loved fur alerted me. My daughter, clutching the floppy-eared dog, peeked in.
"Are you okay, daddy?" Her big, concerned eyes mirrored the ache in my heart.
"Yeah, sweetheart, I'm fine," I mumbled, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace.
"Snoopy wants to give you a hug," she declared, her innocent trust a balm to my soul. My son followed suit, both of them radiating warmth in their pajamas.
"You sure you're okay, Dad?" my son asked, his brow furrowed.
"Absolutely," I lied, choking back another sniffle. "Just happy tears, really. You two are here, and guess what? That means no sharing you guys tomorrow!"
Their faces lit up like fireworks. We piled onto the bed, a tangled mess of limbs and Snoopy fur. Right then, the world could have ended, and it wouldn't have mattered. All that was important was the weight of their tiny bodies against mine, a shield against the storm raging inside.
Letting them see my pain wouldn't have helped. It was a little white lie, but in that moment, it was the greatest story I'd ever told. Later, when the rawness of the situation subsided, I'd explain everything. But for that night, they just needed their dad, and I needed them. And Snoopy, of course, because apparently, even a well-worn stuffed dog can offer superhero-worthy cuddles.
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