**The Forgotten Guest: My Reflection on Being Left Out of a Wedding**
My own son didnt invite me to his weddingapparently, Im too old. Now, I cant help but wonder if I ever really mattered to him.
The memory of that day still feels hazy. It was my sister who called, cheerful and oblivious.
Finally! she said. Your sons married!
I went quiet.
What? I managed. Married? You must be mistaken. Hed have told me. Im his mother, for heavens sake
But she wasnt wrong. Her own son had seen photos on social mediamy boy in a sharp suit, a young woman in white beside him, flowers everywhere, waiters, music, a lavish buffet. The caption read: *The happiest day of my life.*
I sat motionless at the kitchen table. The kettle whistled; the pancakes in the pan grew cold. Only one question echoed in my mind: *Why?* Why hadnt he even mentioned it?
I had him late, at thirty-one. These days, thats nothing, but back then, the midwives called me an elderly primipara. Ten years after his birth, his father died of a heart attack at work. Just like that, it was the two of us. I gave him everythingworked day and night, denied myself, just so hed want for nothing. I set aside my own life, my own joys all for him.
He grew up, graduated, moved into a flat of his own. He had his own life, and I didnt interfere. Hed visit sometimes, bringing fruit, saying everything was fine. That was enough for me. Then one day, he arrived with Emilya bright, down-to-earth girl, ten years younger. I liked her. I thought, *At last, hes found someone to build a family with.*
After they left, I stayed in the kitchen, smiling, already picturing grandchildren. If hed introduced her to me, it was serious. And of course, if they married, hed invite me.
I was wrong.
When I called, he didnt answer. Later, he rang back as if nothing had happened. I kept my voice steady.
Is there something youd like to tell me?
A pause.
Oh youve heard. Yes, we got married yesterday. Off on our honeymoon tomorrow. I was going to pop round
Sure enough, half an hour later, he turned up with a pie and a bouquet. A kiss on the cheek. Sitting there like it was all perfectly normal.
It was a small wedding, just close friends. You know, music, dancing It wouldve worn you out, he said, as if explaining why I hadnt been invited to a garden party.
What about Emilys parents? I asked.
Oh, they were there. But theyre not even forty yet
Something inside me shattered.
Im sixty. Is that the problem? I dont fit your *style* anymore?
He looked down, eating his slice in silence. I studied him, searching for the moment wed become strangers. I didnt need their celebration. But the registry office? Why did I have to hear it from my sister?
We just didnt think of it, he said.
*Didnt think of it.* The worst part wasnt the anger or the hurtit was the indifference. He hadnt even considered telling me. Forgotten. The thought never crossed his mind.
And yet, Id given up everything for him. Nights spent at his bedside when he was ill. Heavy shopping bags when money was tight. I washed, cooked, took on extra shifts just to make his life a little easier. Never once did I let myself falter.
And he he got married. Without me. Without even imagining his mother might grieve. That shed sit alone in this empty flat, flipping through old photos, wondering: *Did I ever matter?*
Now I ask myself: if I hadnt called, would he have told me at all? Would he have carried on as if nothing had happened?
People say children owe their parents nothing. Fine. But is it normal to forget your mother on the day you call *the happiest of your life*?
He left. Silence settled in. I didnt accuse him. No shouting, no scene. I just let go.
Perhaps there comes a time when every parent must accept their child has grown up. And that theres no place left for them in that new life. But I never thought it would hurt this much.
Life has a way of reminding us that love doesnt guarantee gratitude and sometimes, you have to love without expecting anything in return.
