My daughter and my grandchildren love spending time with me—not out of duty, not out of obligation, not because they feel they should. Our connection has never been about forced contact, awkward courtesy calls, or two-minute check-ins once a month. It’s never been limited to birthdays or Christmas. It’s never been conditional. Never “I’ll come if you pay.” Never “you can’t be with us because we already have plans.”

Despite how difficult her situation has been, my daughter has always tried to include me. Always. She tried before, too—but both of us allowed controlling men into our lives, men who worked—sometimes quietly, sometimes openly—to separate us. And on occasion, they succeeded.

That time is over.

Nothing stands in our way now.

We are deeply in tune with each other. We wake up at the same time in the middle of the night. We feel each other’s pain. We call when something feels wrong. We drop everything to support one another. That is what real family looks like. That is what being a parent means. And that will never, ever change.

The past year has been the most difficult—and also the most rewarding—of my life. It stripped everything back to what truly matters. And I hope next year will be even better, not because it will be easy, but because it will be real.

One day, my grandchildren will be grown, living their own lives, chasing their own dreams. But until that day comes, I will enjoy every single minute. Fully present. Deeply grateful. And very aware of just how lucky I am.