On my 73rd birthday, I decided to treat my entire family to a lavish beach vacation—a weeklong trip along the coast in a luxury tour bus, fully paid for. It was my way of trying to reconnect, especially after they’d all declined to join me for cake at home. As expected, once money was involved, they showed up with wide smiles and heavy luggage. But that smile vanished quickly; throughout the trip, I was treated like an afterthought.
They excluded me from activities under the guise of “health concerns” and left me wandering beaches and hotel grounds alone while they enjoyed themselves. The final insult came during the ride home when I asked for a short break. They pulled into a gas station—and drove off without me. It wasn’t until I stood in that empty parking lot, wind cutting through my blazer, that I realized just how invisible I had become to them.