Forgotten Guest: My SelfReflection on 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 recall that day as if 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. Im his mother, after all
But she was right. 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 most beautiful day of my life.
I sat motionless in the kitchen. The kettle whistled, the pancakes cooled in the pan. One thought kept looping in my mind: why? Why hadnt he even mentioned it?
I had him late, at thirtyone. Today it seems insignificant, but back then I was labeled a late firsttime mother at the hospital. Ten years after his birth, his father died of a heart attack at work. We were left alone. I gave everything to himworking day and night, denying myselfjust 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 all was well. That was enough for me. Then one day he returned with Amélie, a sweet, simple woman ten years his junior. I liked her. I thought, Finally, hes found someone who can be his family.
After they left, I remained in the kitchen, smiling, already imagining grandchildren. If he introduced her, it meant seriousness. And of course, if they married, he would invite me.
I was wrong.
When I called, he didnt answer. Later he returned my call as if nothing had happened. I tried to stay calm:
Do you have something to tell me?
He hesitated.
Oh, you know Yes, we got married yesterday. And tomorrow were off on our honeymoon. I was going to
Half an hour later he showed up, bearing a pie and flowers, planting a kiss on my cheek, sitting as if everything were normal.
Yes, there was a wedding. It was intimate, just friends. You understand, music, dancing It would have exhausted you, he added, as if that justified not inviting me to a barbecue.
And Amélies parents? I asked.
Them yes. But they arent even forty
Something cracked inside me.
Im sixty. I no longer fit your style, is that it?
He lowered his eyes, silently eating his portion. I watched him, trying to pinpoint when we became strangers. I didnt want their party, but the civil ceremony? Why did I learn about it from my sister?
We never thought about it, he replied.
Never thought. The worst part of those words isnt anger or sorrowits indifference. He didnt deem it necessary to tell me. He simply forgot.
Yet I had sacrificed everything for him. Nights spent at his bedside when he was ill. Heavy errands when money was tight. 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 sit alone in that empty apartment, leafing through old photos and wondering: did I ever matter?
Now I wonder: if I hadnt called, would he have told me? Would he have continued as if nothing had changed?
People say children owe nothing. Fine. But is it normal to forget your mother on the day you claim is the most beautiful?
He left. Silence settled. I didnt accuse him. No shouting, no drama. I simply let go.
Perhaps there comes a moment when every parent must accept that their child is an adult and no longer belongs in the same space. I never imagined it would 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.
