Forgotten Guest: My Doubt in the Face of a Wedding Absence
My son never invited me to his wedding, saying I was too old. Now I wonder whether I ever meant anything to him.
I still see that day hazily. My sister called, congratulating me:
Finally! Your son got married!
I was silent on the phone.
What? I whispered. Married? You must be mistaken. He would have told me. Im his mother, after all
She was right. Her son had seen on social media pictures of my son 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 question kept looping in my head: why? Why hadnt he even mentioned it?
I had him late, at thirtyone. Today that seems trivial, but back then I was labeled a late 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 to himworking day and night, denying myself, so he would never lack. 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 stayed out of it. Occasionally he would drop by with fruit, saying all was well. That was enough for me. Then one day he brought home Amélie, a cheerful, simple young woman ten years his junior. I liked her. I thought, At last, hes found someone who will be his family.
After they left, I lingered in the kitchen, smiling, already picturing grandchildren. If he had 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 calm:
Do you have something to tell me?
He hesitated.
Ah, you already know Yes, we got married yesterday. We leave for our honeymoon tomorrow. I was going to
True enough, a half hour later he showed up with a cake and flowers, planted a kiss on my cheek, and sat down as if everything were normal.
Yes, there was a ceremony. It was intimate, just friends. You understand, music, dancing It would have worn you out, he added, as if justifying why he hadnt invited me to a barbecue.
And Amélies parents? I asked.
Them yes. Theyre not even forty
Something cracked inside me.
Im sixty. I no longer fit your style, is that it?
He lowered his gaze, eating his portion in silence. I watched him, 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 never thought about it, he replied.
Never thought. The worst part of those words isnt anger or sadness its the indifference. He didnt consider it necessary to tell me. It was simply forgotten; the idea never occurred to him.
Yet I had sacrificed everything for him. Nights by 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 even imagining his mother might suffer, alone in that empty apartment, flipping 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 carried 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 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 doesnt guarantee recognition and that we must learn to love without expecting anything in return.
An Uninvited Guest: My Journey of Reflection on Missing a Wedding
