02/24/2026
I came across this on my feed and it reminded me of the magic that is inherent in many of the things that we deal in and why they are important. ❤️
“My grandson begged me to play Dungeons & Dragons.
"It's just one session, Grandma. Please. We need a fourth player or the campaign falls apart."
I'm Vivian. Seventy years old. I read romance novels. Watch Jeopardy. Play bridge on Thursdays. I don't do dragons.
"What even is Dungeons & Dragons?" I asked.
"It's like..... cooperative storytelling with dice. You create a character and go on adventures."
"I'm seventy, Marcus. I don't go on adventures."
"Exactly why you should try."
I only agreed because his friends were coming over anyway. Might as well supervise. Make sure they weren't doing drugs or whatever kids do.
Saturday night. Three kids showed up. Marcus handed me papers. "Character sheet. You're playing a wizard named..... you can name her."
"This is ridiculous."
"Just try for an hour."
I named her Elara. Don't ask me why. It just felt right.
The game master-a kid named Devon with purple hair-described a tavern. "You're all sitting there when a mysterious hooded figure approaches......."
For the first twenty minutes, I was lost. Dice rolling. Rules. Weird words like "constitution saving throw."
Then something clicked.
Devon described a dragon attacking our village. "What do you do, Elara?"
And I said, without thinking, "I cast a shield spell to protect the children getting evacuated."
Marcus's eyes went wide. "That's....... that's perfect. Roll for it."
I rolled. Succeeded.
Devon described my magical shield shimmering into existence, families escaping safely.
Something in my chest...... opened.
For three hours, I wasn't Vivian the widow. I wasn't Vivian whose kids moved away. I wasn't Vivian whose husband died and left her in a too-quiet house.
I was Elara. A powerful wizard saving villages. Making choices that mattered.
"Same time next week?" Devon asked when we finished.
I heard myself say yes.
Week two, I showed up with snacks. Homemade cookies. "Adventurers need provisions," I said.
The kids loved it.
Week five, I was fully invested. Bought my own dice. Fancy ones. Learned all the spells.
"Grandma's better at this than us," Marcus told his friends.
Week eight, something happened in the game. Our party faced an impossible choice. Save the village or chase the villain who'd murdered families.
Everyone wanted revenge. Chase the villain.
But I said, "Elara stays. She protects the village. Revenge won't bring the dead back, but we can save the living."
The table went quiet.
Devon nodded slowly. "That's....... that's really wise."
After the session, Marcus walked me to my car.
"That thing you said. About saving the living instead of chasing revenge. Were you talking about Grandpa?"
My throat tightened.
My husband died five years ago. Medical malpractice. Clear-cut case. I could've sued. Everyone said I should.
But I couldn't. Couldn't spend years in court reliving his death. Couldn't let anger consume me.
People thought I was weak. That I didn't care enough to fight.
"I wasn't chasing revenge," I told Marcus. "I was choosing to keep living."
He hugged me. "Elara would be proud."
The game kept going. Every Saturday. I started inviting them to my house. Made dinner before sessions. My kitchen filled with laughter again.
Devon's mom pulled me aside one night. "I don't know what you're doing, but Devon's been struggling. Depression. Anxiety. This game, your house........ it's the only place they smile anymore."
I didn't know what to say.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For seeing them."
Month four, Marcus asked if his friend's grandma could join. "She just lost her husband. She's really lonely."
Janet was seventy-two. Skeptical. "I don't understand games."
"Neither did I," I said. "You'll learn."
She played a warrior. Strong. Fierce. Everything she couldn't be in real life while caring for a sick husband.
After her second session, she cried. "I forgot what it felt like. To be powerful."
We're eight months in now. Our group expanded. Six players. Three of us are over sixty-five.
We play every Saturday. Six-hour sessions. We've saved kingdoms. Fought gods. Made choices that mattered.
Last week, my daughter visited. Saw the dice, the character sheets, the books.
"Mom, you're playing a children's game?"
"I'm playing a game where my choices matter," I corrected. "Where I'm not just Grandma or widow or retired teacher. I'm Elara. And Elara saves people."
She didn't get it.
But I do.
I'm seventy. I play Dungeons & Dragons every Saturday with teenagers and other grandmas.
And I learned this, You're never too old to pretend. To create. To be someone brave.
Real life took my power away. Made me small. Made me scared.
But in this game? I'm level 14. I wield lightning. I protect villages.
And somehow, that makes real life bearable again.
So try the ridiculous thing. Join your grandkid's weird hobby. Play the game. Paint the picture. Write the story.
Pretend you're powerful.
Because maybe, just maybe, you'll remember you actually are."
