Forgotten Guest: My Doubt Over Being Excluded From a Wedding
My son never asked me to his wedding, saying I was too old. Now I wonder if I ever meant anything to him.
I can still see that day like a fog. My sister called to congratulate me:
At last! Your son got married!
I went silent on the phone.
What? I whispered. Married? You must be mistaken. He would have told meIm 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 best day of my life.
I sat motionless in the kitchen. The kettle whistled, the crepes cooled in the pan. One question kept looping in my mind: why? Why hadnt he even mentioned it?
I had him late, at thirtyone. Today it seems trivial, but back then I was called a old firsttime mother at the maternity ward. 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 myself, just so he would lack nothing. 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 came with Amélie, a cheerful, simple girl ten years his junior. I liked her and thought, finally hes found someone who could be his family.
After they left, I lingered in the kitchen, smiling, already picturing grandchildren. If he introduced her, it meant seriousness. Of course, if they married, Id be invited.
I was wrong.
When I called him, 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.
Ah, you already know Yes, we got married yesterday. Tomorrow we leave for the honeymoon. I thought Id stop by
Sure enough, half an hour later he showed up with a pie and flowers, planted a kiss on my cheek, and sat down as if everything were normal.
Yes, there was a wedding. It was a small affair, just friends. You know, music, dancing It would have worn you out, he said, as if excusing not inviting me to a barbecue.
And Amélie’s parents? I asked.
Them yes. But theyre not even forty
Something broke inside me.
Im sixty. Im no longer your style, is that it?
He looked down, ate 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 never thought about it, he answered.
Never thought. The worst part of those words isnt anger or sorrow; its the indifference. He didnt deem it worth mentioning. It was simply forgotten.
Yet I had sacrificed everything for himnights at his bedside when he was ill, heavy grocery trips when money was tight. I washed, cooked, worked evenings so his life could be a little easier. I never allowed myself to be weak.
And he he married. Without me. Without ever considering that his mother might suffer, that she would sit alone in an empty apartment, 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 happened?
People say children owe nothing. Fine. But is it normal to forget your mother on the day you claim is the best?
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 now, no longer fitting into their life. I didnt expect it to hurt this much.
Life sometimes reminds us that love doesnt guarantee acknowledgment and that we must learn to love without expecting anything in return.
Forgotten Guest: My Journey of Self-Reflection in the Wake of Missing a Wedding
