Forgotten Guest: My Doubt After Being Excluded from a Wedding
My son never asked me to his wedding, saying I was too old. Now I wonder whether I ever meant anything to him.
I still see that day through a haze. It was my sister who 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 meIm his mother, after all
But she wasnt wrong. Her son had seen on social media pictures of my child in a tuxedo, a young woman in a white dress beside him, flowers everywhere, servers, music, a buffet with the caption: The most beautiful day of my life.
I perched on a kitchen stool, unmoving. The kettle whistled, the pancakes cooled in the pan. All I could think of was one question: why? Why hadnt he mentioned it to me?
He arrived late, at thirtyone. Today it seems insignificant, but at the time I was labeled a old primipara in 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 he would drop by with fruit, saying everything was fine. That was enough for me. Then one day he came with Amélie, a cheerful, plainspoken woman ten years his junior. I liked her. I thought, Finally, hes found someone who can 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, I would be invited.
I was wrong.
When I called, he didnt answer. He later called back as if nothing had happened. I tried to stay composed:
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 was going to
True enough, half an hour later he showed up with a tart and flowers, planting a kiss on my cheek, sitting there as if everything were normal.
Yes, there was a ceremony. It was intimatejust friends, music, dancing It would have worn you out, he said, as if excusing not inviting me to a barbecue.
And Amélies parents? I asked.
Them yes. Theyre not even forty yet
Something snapped inside me.
Im sixty. Im just not your kind of style, is that it?
He looked down, eating his portion in silence. I stared, trying to locate the moment we became strangers. I didnt want their party, but the civil marriage? Why did I hear about it from my sister?
We didnt think about it, he replied.
Didnt think. The worst part of those words isnt anger or sorrowits the indifference. He didnt consider it worth mentioning. It was simply forgotten.
Yet I had sacrificed everything for him: nights at his bedside when he was ill, heavy grocery runs when money was tight, washing, cooking, night shifts so his life could be a little softer. I never allowed myself to appear weak.
And he he married. Without me. Without ever imagining his mother could be hurt, alone in a quiet apartment, leafing through old photos and wondering: did I ever matter?
Now I ask myself: if I hadnt called, would he have told me? Would he have gone on as if nothing had changed?
People say children owe nothing. Fine. But is it normal to forget your mother on the day you call it the most beautiful?
He left. Silence settled. I didnt accuse him. No shouting, no dramajust a release.
Perhaps there comes a moment when every parent must accept that their child is an adult and no longer fits into 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.
