The Agony Of Being A Long-Distance Grandmother

The Agony Of Being A Long-Distance Grandmother

I’m sitting in a café at St Pancras station, London, with my daughter. As the coffee arrives, she fumbles in her bag and pulls out an envelope, then passes it to me. Inside is a photographic negative, covered with dots and swirls. Puzzled, I ask her what it is. ‘It’s my scan, Mum,’ she says. ‘I’m pregnant.’

I feel a rush of joy, accompanied by unexpected tearfulness. My daughter is in her mid-30s and, as all my friends became grandparents over the years, I was beginning to fear that this experience would pass me by. I hug her. ‘I’m due around Christmas,’ she tells me. ‘We’ll be in New Zealand by then.’

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