A powerful, simple tale in the current New Yorker, Roddy Doyle's Curfew

Well-known Irish writer Roddy Doyle has a smart and moving story, The Curfew, in the current New Yorker, a day in the life of a man, in his 50s or 60s it seems, on the eve of a hurricane expected to land in Dublin, leading to an imposition of a curfew, which hangs over the story like a weight: the man recollects curfews imposed for fear of rioting and mayhem, and of course this curfew is about something beyond the control of people, a natural phenomenon. Or is it? As he lives through his day, during which both and and his wife will need to return home before curfew falls, he, in his Joycean manner, has a few epiphonies - most notably, he sees a young woman walking toward him wearing a baby sling in which she's carrying something that's not a baby - and he recognizes eventually as a teddy bear - and he feels great sorrow for this young woman and recalls his young parenthood when he carried his daughter in such a sling - and remembers fear of his infant daughter dying while he's carrying her. So, yes, we see another dimension to this story - death and the fear of death - in particular as his action of the day is a medical visit at which he learns he has artery disease; the md provides a scrip for Rx, which the man fills, but he determines that he won't tell his wife about these pills, or tablets as he prefers to call them. At the end, his wife comes home and they talk about this and that, and the man suddenly is submerged beneath a wave of emotion as he realizes that he misses his (4) daughters, who live far away. There's a lot happening in this story, but the strands are woven neatly together and in the end we see that the story is about the most fundamental and profound of emotions: love of family, fear of dying - a powerful and simple tale, not a word too long nor a word too short.