I Miss My Grandchildren

One of the (very few) benefits of being in my 60s is that I can finally own up to a trait that’s pretty retro: that what I cherish most in life is my family. I might endanger my credentials as a second-wave feminist with this admission, but I’ve come to realize that the pleasure I get from being with my daughters, their husbands, and my granddaughters outshines whatever pride I take in my writing career. I will drop everything to see my granddaughters, ages 2 and almost 5, even if it means ignoring a looming deadline.

So when people talk about how the pandemic should make us slow down and learn to appreciate what really matters in life, the advice strikes me as a cruel, unfunny joke. I already know what matters in life. The pandemic isn’t clarifying that for me; it’s ripping it away.

[Read: All the things we have to mourn now]

I had delighted in being an involved grandmother from the moment I was invited