Forgotten Guest: My Doubt Over Being Excluded From a Wedding
My son didnt invite me to his wedding, deeming me too old. Now I wonder whether I ever mattered to him.
I still recall that day as if it were shrouded in fog. My sister called to congratulate me:
At last! Your son got married!
I stayed silent on the line.
What? I whispered. Married? You must be mistaken. He would have told me. After all, Im his mother
But she wasnt wrong. Her son had seen on social media pictures of mine in a tuxedo, a young woman in a white dress beside him, flowers everywhere, waiters, music, a buffet with the caption: The best day of my life.
I froze in the kitchen, the kettle whistling, the pancakes cooling in the pan. One question kept looping in my head: why? Why hadnt he even mentioned it?
I had him late, at thirtyone. It meant nothing now, but at the time I was called a old primipara at the maternity ward. Ten years after his birth his father died of a heart attack at work. It was just us. I gave everything to himworking day and night, denying myself, so he would never lack. I abandoned my own life, my hobbies everything for him.
He grew up, earned his diploma, moved into his own flat. He lived his life, and I stayed out of it. Occasionally hed drop by with fruit, saying everything was fine. That was enough for me. Then one day he arrived with Amélie, a cheerful, modest woman ten years his junior. I liked her. I thought, finally hes found someone who will be his family.
After they left I lingered in the kitchen, smiling, already picturing grandchildren. If he introduced her, it meant seriousness. And, of course, if they married, hed invite me.
I was wrong.
When I called, he didnt answer. Later he called back, as if nothing had happened. I tried to stay calm:
Do you have something to tell me?
He hesitated.
Ah, you know Yes, we got married yesterday. And tomorrow we leave for the honeymoon. I was planning to
Indeed, half an hour later he showed up with a pie and flowers, planting a kiss on my cheek, sitting there as if everything were normal.
Yes, there was a wedding. It was a small thingjust friends, music, dancing It would have tired you out, he said, as if justifying not inviting me to a barbecue.
And Amélies parents? I asked.
Them yes. But theyre not even forty.
Something snapped inside me.
Im sixty. I no longer fit your style, is that it?
He lowered his gaze, eating his portion in silence. I watched him, trying to pinpoint when we became strangers. I didnt want their party, but the civil ceremony? Why did I hear about it from my sister?
We just didnt think about it, he replied.
Didnt think the worst part of those words isnt anger or hurt; its indifference. He never considered it worth mentioning. Forgotten. It never crossed his mind.
Yet I sacrificed everything for him. Nights at his bedside when he was ill. Heavy grocery runs when money was tight. I washed, cooked, worked evenings so his life could be a little softer. I never allowed myself to be weak.
And he got married. Without me. Without ever imagining his mother might suffer, left alone in a quiet flat, leafing through old photos and asking herself: did I ever matter?
Now I wonder: if I hadnt called, would he have told me? Would he have continued as if nothing changed?
People say children owe nothing. Fine. But is it normal to forget your mother on the day you deem the most beautiful?
Hes gone. Silence settled. I didnt accuse him. No shouting, no scene. I simply let go.
Perhaps there comes a moment when every parent must accept that his child is now an adult, no longer occupying the same place in his life. I hadnt expected it to hurt this much.
Life sometimes reminds us that love does not guarantee recognition and that we must learn to love without expecting anything in return.
An Unexpected Absence: My Reflection on Being a Forgotten Guest at a Wedding
