I paid my son and his wife $700 every single week for three years so they could “stay afloat,” and on the one day that truly mattered to me—my 75th birthday—they didn’t even show up; when I called to ask why, my daughter-in-law laughed over the music at some party and said, “Your age means nothing to us,” and that was the moment I decided to find out what our relationship looked like when the money stopped coming.

I paid my son and his wife $700 every single week. And on the one day that truly mattered to me, my 75th birthday, they didn’t even show up.

When I called to ask why, my daughter-in-law smirked and said, “Your age means nothing to us.”

I still remember the exact tone of her voice. Not angry, not apologetic. Just careless, like she was telling me the weather forecast or commenting on the color of a napkin. As if 75 years of living, loving, sacrificing, and surviving meant absolutely nothing at all.