Forgotten Guest: My SelfQuestioning Over Missing 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 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 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 pancakes cooled in the pan. One question kept looping in my head: why? Why hadnt he even mentioned it?
I had him late, at thirtyone. Today it seems trivial, but back then I was mocked as 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 him everythingworking day and night, denying myself, just so he would lack nothing. I abandoned my own life, my hobbies all 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 came with Amélie, a cheerful, modest girl ten years his junior. I liked her. I thought, finally, hed found someone who could be his family.
After they left, I lingered in the kitchen, smiling, already picturing grandchildren. If hed 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 heard 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, giving me a kiss on the cheek, sitting as if everything were normal.
Yes, there was a ceremony. It was intimate, just friends. You know, music, dancing It would have tired you out, he said, as if excusing 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 dont fit your style anymore, is that it?
He lowered his gaze, eating silently. I watched him, trying to locate the moment we became strangers. I didnt want their party, but the civil wedding? How 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 sorrow its the indifference. He didnt deem it necessary to tell me. It was simply forgotten.
Yet I had sacrificed everything for him. Nights by his bedside when he was ill. Heavy shopping trips when money was scarce. I washed, cooked, worked evenings so his life could be a little softer. I never allowed myself to be weak.
And he he married without me, without even considering that his mother might suffer, that she would sit alone in an empty apartment flipping through old photos, wondering: did I ever matter?
Now I ask: if I hadnt called, would he have told me? Would he have gone on as if nothing mattered?
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 scene. I simply let go.
Perhaps there comes a time when every parent must accept that their child is an adult and no longer belongs in their life. I hadnt imagined it would hurt this much.
Life sometimes reminds us that love doesnt guarantee acknowledgment and that we must learn to love without expecting anything in return.
An Overlooked Guest: My Journey of Self-Reflection on Missing a Wedding
