I hit 78 just last week. The entire morning went into prepping a feast—herb-roasted turkey, creamy garlic potatoes, and a warm cherry pie, all the dishes my children adored growing up. I aimed to fill the place with that comforting aroma, reminiscent of days when giggles echoed through every corner. As they showed up, they pecked my cheek mechanically, eyes glued to their screens. Not a word about the meal, and no birthday wishes until I gently prompted them. They lounged in the family room like