When our beloved scruffy golden retriever–terrier mix, Biscuit, died late this summer, our family of four took a walk on the trail with our other dog, Oreo. We were all so sad that we decided to watch a funny movie, to give our grief a reprieve for a couple of hours.

We piled onto our big couch together while Eddie Murphy made us laugh in the 1980s classic Coming to America.

I dreaded the day we would lose Biscuit, not only because we all loved her, but because she had grown up with our daughters. I didn’t want to see their heartbroken faces. I know I can’t and shouldn’t shield them from disappointment and loss, but that doesn’t mean I’m eager for them to experience it. Our girls seemed to turn into teenagers overnight. Did we really have to say goodbye to their childhood dog too?

Biscuit wasn’t just a dog. She was a main character in our family story, a furry thread woven through memories, milestones and holidays.

She guarded the girls when they were babies and toddlers, often sleeping outside their bedroom door. They leaned against her like a pillow. They tried to ride her around like a pony or dress her up with holiday headbands. She would just lick their faces and cooperate for photos.

Biscuit loved every creek she encountered, especially if she had just been professionally groomed and smelled good. She’d lie right down in the water to cool off.

She chased squirrels just for fun and howled at them up a tree. She wrestled with Oreo and followed us from room to room. She was my running buddy, whom we ridiculously called “Beece Beece.”

When Biscuit decided it was time to go, our girls were 13, halfway to 14. It was peaceful, beautiful and devastating all at once. She was with them for all the stages.

The one thing that eased the loss was feeling immensely grateful for all the time we were given with her … 14 years. She made it into Christmas cards and on family trips. In her golden years, she got to watch all the younger dogs play at Happy Tails as she looked on like a lioness. We were given thousands of ordinary moments, but we made them count while they were happening. We savored the time with her.

This is what I love about gratitude. I’m not pretending life isn’t hard. I wouldn’t tell someone who is sad to just cheer up or find the bright side. I just know that we can be sad and use gratitude to comfort ourselves.

When challenges arise, gratitude can be the ultimate resilience tool to pick us up and put us back on our feet. Even in difficult seasons, there is something worth noticing.

Daily gratitude practices are still worthwhile. They remind us to stay aware of what’s going right and what we enjoy. I still compile gratitude lists with a hot cup of coffee. I find serenity from just listing the good: Crunchy fall leaves. A purring cat. My husband’s laugh. A cool pillow when you flip it over. Something one of my daughters says. A book I disappear into. The smell of a library. The wave of endorphins after a workout.

Grounding ourselves in all the good, even the simple things, enhances our well-being. But I also love living with a deeper sense of gratitude. We can live with awareness and notice the moments that make up our days. Gratitude can become a perspective tool, a way of living, so we don’t miss all the good around us when we are busy thinking about the next thing.

Sometimes I’ll be sitting on the couch with my family when I will suddenly pause for two seconds to look around and think: I love this. Immediately I feel filled with a sense of completeness. We’re just together and that’s enough. I take notice of how good family can feel.

What we notice can make us feel alive.

Biscuit’s purple leash still hangs on the hook in our laundry room. When we take Oreo on walks, he sometimes stops, looks behind him and waits for Biscuit. Or he will look up at us adorably for answers. On the first night, Riley slept with Biscuit’s collar around her wrist. Every time the tags jingled, it sounded like Biscuit was clicking happily down the hallway. Sydney says she’ll miss watching Biscuit bury her nose in snow before exploding into a crazy, joyful run. I miss her wild terrier bed head and her Benji-like face.

Biscuit followed us to bed every night along with Oreo and our cat, Butter, creating a little animal parade down the hallway. Sydney and Riley used their two gym mats to help Biscuit get on the bed for her last few years of life. While the silence of her gone is loud, I feel good about the hundreds of moments we treasured with her. And that’s the trick, isn’t it? To carry around the knowledge of change and loss, while we deeply take in all that’s good as it’s happening.

Look around. What do you love here? Live awake enough to notice it.