My Family Ignored Me at My Own Birthday Dinner, But They All Wanted a Piece of Me When They Heard the Will — Story of the Day

The Birthday No One Remembered

I’d spent forty years patching up other people’s lives in the local clinic, but no one had time to patch up mine. Funny thing about getting old in Ohio: you stop existing unless someone needs your checkbook or your casserole.

I stood by the kitchen window that morning, watching the snow melt off the bird feeder. The house smelled like baked chicken and lemon pie.

You stop existing unless someone

needs your checkbook or your casserole.

I’d ironed the tablecloth with the tiny tulips, the same one we used back when the kids were little and birthdays meant laughter instead of awkward silence. The phone stayed quiet.

At six, headlights flashed through the window. Finally. I took off my apron and brushed my hair.

“Okay, Alice, smile,” I whispered to myself.

The door creaked open.

The phone stayed quiet.

“Hey, Ma,” my son Todd said, stepping inside with his wife, Cheryl. She didn’t even take off her coat. “You still keep it this warm in here? Feels like a sauna.”

“It’s winter, Todd. You’ll thaw out.” I tried to laugh. “Come on in, dinner’s ready.”

He sniffed the air. “Smells… old-fashioned. Fried stuff?”

“It’s roast chicken.”

Cheryl sat at the table, pulling out her phone. “I told you, Todd, we could’ve just grabbed takeout. This is quaint.”

“Come on in, dinner’s ready.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I thought we could eat together like old times.”

“Sure, sure,” Todd said, already opening a beer from the fridge without asking. “Where’s June?”

“She texted she’d be late. Something about a hair appointment.”

***

Half an hour later, my daughter finally burst in, heels clicking on the linoleum.

“Mom, you look… well. I had no idea we were doing a full dinner thing. I thought it was just cake.”

“I thought we could eat together like old times.”

I smiled. “I made your favorite pie.”

She looked around. “Oh. You still have that same wallpaper. You really should redecorate before you—well, before you know.” Before I what? Die? Move into assisted living?

I pretended not to hear. We sat down. Only the sound of forks scraping plates.

“So,” June said, chewing without looking at me, “what are you doing with the house, Mom? I mean, it’s big for just one person.”

“What are you doing with the house, Mom?

I mean, it’s big for just one person.”

Cheryl laughed softly. “Don’t rush her, June.”

Todd raised an eyebrow. “Just practical talk, babe. Houses don’t maintain themselves.”

My hands trembled as I poured the gravy. “You can talk about that later. Tonight’s supposed to be about family.”

“Well, you never know when it’s time to plan ahead, right?”

June scrolled through her phone. “Oh my God, did you see that video I sent you, Todd? That lady who froze her cats?”

“You can talk about that later.

Tonight’s supposed to be about family.”

They laughed. I sat there, staring at the candles melting down to nothing. After dessert, Todd stood and stretched.

“We should head out. Early shift tomorrow.”

“That’s it?” I asked quietly. “No coffee? No cake?”

Cheryl checked her watch. “It’s past nine. You should get some rest anyway, Alice. At your age—”

“It’s past nine.

You should get some rest anyway, Alice.

At your age—”

My chair scraped the floor as I stood. “At my age, I still remember birthdays that meant something.”

They looked at each other, confused, maybe a little embarrassed, but said nothing. When the door shut behind them, I blew out the candles myself. The smoke curled up like a ghost of something warm and gone.

Then I laughed. A sharp, tired sound.

“At my age, I still remember

birthdays that meant something.”

If they thought the old lady in the little Ohio house had nothing left, they were about to learn just how wrong they were.