Forgotten Guest: My Doubt About Being Excluded from a Wedding
My son never invited me to his wedding, deeming me too old. Now I wonder whether I ever mattered to him.
I still see that day hazily. It was my sister who called to congratulate me:
Finally! Your son got married!
I stayed silent on the phone.
What? I whispered. Married? You must be mistaken. He would have told meIm his mother, after all
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, servers, music, a buffet with the caption The best day of my life.
I sat frozen in the kitchen. The kettle whistled, pancakes cooled in the pan. One question swirled in my mind: why? Why hadnt he mentioned it at all?
I became a mother late, at thirtyone. Today it sounds trivial, but back then I was labeled a old firsttime mother at the maternity ward. Ten years after his birth, his father died of a heart attack at work. It was just the two of us. I gave everything for himworking day and night, denying myself, just so he would lack nothing. I abandoned my own life, my hobbies everything for his sake.
He grew up, earned his diploma, moved into his own flat. He lived his life, and I kept my distance. Occasionally hed drop by with fruit, saying everything was fine. That was enough for me. Then one day he arrived with Amélie, a cheerful, downtoearth girl ten years his junior. I liked her. I thought, Finally, hes found someone who will be like family to him.
After they left, I lingered in the kitchen, smiling, already picturing grandchildren. If he introduced her, it meant he was serious. And of course, if they married, I would be invited.
I was wrong.
When I called, he didnt answer. He called back later, as if nothing had happened. I tried to stay calm:
Do you have something to tell me?
He hesitated.
Oh, you already know Yes, we got married yesterday. And tomorrow were off on our honeymoon. I was going to
Indeed, half an hour later he showed up with a pie and flowers, kissed my cheek, and sat down as if everything were normal.
Yes, there was a ceremony. It was intimate, just friends. You get itmusic, dancing It would have worn you out, he added, as if excusing me not being invited to a barbecue.
And Amélie’s parents? I asked.
Them yes. But theyre not even forty
Something snapped inside me.
Im sixty. Im just not your style anymore, is that it?
He stared at his plate, eyes down, eating silently. I watched, trying to pinpoint when we became strangers. I never wanted their party, but the civil wedding? 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 the indifference. He never found it necessary to tell me. He simply forgot.
Yet I had sacrificed everything for him. Nights at his bedside when he was ill. Heavy grocery trips when money was scarce. I washed, cooked, worked evenings so his life could be a little softer. I never allowed myself to appear weak.
And he he married. Without me. Without ever considering that his mother might suffer, that she would be alone in an empty 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 gone on as if nothing mattered?
People say children owe nothing to their parents. Fine. But is it normal to forget your mother on the day you claim is the most beautiful of your life?
He left. Silence settled. I didnt accuse him. No yelling, no drama. I simply let go.
Perhaps there comes a moment when every parent must accept that their child is now an adult and no longer occupies the same place in their life. I never imagined it would hurt this much.
Life sometimes reminds us that love does not guarantee acknowledgment and that we must learn to love without expecting anything in return.
Forgotten Guest: My Reflection on Feeling Absent at a Wedding
