**The Forgotten Guest: A Mothers Quiet Heartbreak**
My son didnt invite me to his weddingapparently, Im too old. Now Im left wondering if I ever mattered to him at all.
I remember that day like a blur. It was my sister who rang me, chirping with excitement:
“Finally! Your boys gone and got married!”
I went silent.
“What?” I managed. “Married? You must have it wrong. Hed have told me. I *am* his mother, after all…”
But she wasnt mistaken. Her own son had seen the photos on social mediamine in a sharp suit, a young woman in white beside him, flowers everywhere, waiters weaving through the crowd, music, a lavish spread. The caption read: “The best day of my life.”
I sat motionless in the kitchen. The kettle whistled, pancakes went cold in the pan. My mind kept circling the same question: *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 primigravida.” Ten years after he was born, his father dropped dead of a heart attack at work. Just like that, it was the two of us. I gave everything for that boyworked nights, scrimped and saved, just so hed want for nothing. I put my life on hold, gave up hobbies, friends all for him.
He grew up, graduated, moved into a flat. I kept my distance, let him live his life. Hed pop round now and then with a bag of apples, saying everything was fine. That was enough. Then one day, he showed up with Emilya sweet, unassuming girl, a decade younger. I liked her instantly. Thought, *At last, hes found someone to build a family with.*
After they left, I stayed in the kitchen, grinning, already picturing grandchildren. If hed brought her to meet me, it was serious. And of *course* if they married, hed invite me.
Turns out, I was wrong.
When I rang him, he didnt pick up. Later, he called back, breezy as ever. I tried to keep my voice steady:
“Anything youd like to tell me?”
A pause.
“Ah. Youve heard Yeah, we tied the knot yesterday. Off to the Maldives tomorrow. Was going to drop by”
Sure enough, half an hour later, there he was, bearing a custard tart and a bunch of tulips. A peck on the cheek. Sat there like nothing was amiss.
“Yeah, we had a do. Just something small. Friends, really. You knowmusic, dancing Wouldve worn you out,” he said, as if explaining why I wasnt invited to a pub quiz.
“What about Emilys parents?” I asked.
“Oh, them? Yeah. But theyre not even forty yet”
Something inside me snapped.
“And Im sixty. Not trendy enough for your crowd, is that it?”
He looked down, silently chewing his pastry. I studied him, searching for the moment wed become strangers. I didnt need their raucous party. But a registry office? Why did I have to find out from my sister?
“We just didnt think,” he said.
*Didnt think.* The cruelty in those words isnt the anger or the hurtits the indifference. It never even occurred to him to mention it. An afterthought.
Yet Id sacrificed everything. Nights spent mopping his fevered brow, hauling heavy shopping bags when money was tight. I washed, cooked, took extra shifts so he could have an easier life. Never let myself falter.
And him? He got married. Without me. Without a second thought that his mother might care. 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? Or just carried on as if nothing happened?
People say children owe their parents nothing. Fine. But is it too much to expect not to be forgotten on the day they call “the best of their lives”?
He left. The silence settled. I didnt shout, didnt make a scene. Just let go.
Maybe there comes a time when every parent must accept their child has grown upand they no longer have a place in their world. I just never thought it would hurt this much.
Life has a way of teaching you that love doesnt guarantee gratitude and sometimes, you have to love without expecting anything back.
