The day before I flew to Colorado in May, I spent a long evening at my grandma’s house, wearing a mask and talking from across the room, trying to figure out how to keep my distance and still take advantage of time together before moving 2,251 miles away.

Before I left, I went to hug her, then stopped. Instead, I washed my hands before I held hers for a minute, turning my head to avoid breathing directly onto her face. Of all the times I’ve said goodbye before packing up and moving away, this...