Forgotten Guest: My Doubt Over Being Excluded from a Wedding
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 hazy in my mind. My sister called, thrilled:
Finally! 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 mine in a suit, a young woman in a white dress beside him, flowers everywhere, servers, music, a buffet captioned, The best day of my life.
I sat frozen 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 sounds trivial, but back then I was branded 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 everything to himworking day and night, depriving myselfso 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 arrived with Amélie, a cheerful, modest girl 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 it was serious. 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. Were leaving for our honeymoon tomorrow. 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 as if everything were normal.
Yes, there was a ceremony. It was a small, friendsonly affair. You know, music, dancing It would have tired you out, he said, as if that justified not inviting me to a barbecue.
And Amélies parents? I asked.
Them yes. But they arent even forty yet
Something snapped inside me.
Im sixty. I no longer fit your style, is that it?
He lowered his eyes, eating his piece in silence. I watched him, trying to locate the moment we became strangers. I didnt want their party, but the civil wedding? 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 sorrow; its the indifference. He didnt deem it worth mentioning. Hed simply forgotten. The idea never crossed his mind.
Yet Id sacrificed everything for him: sleepless nights at his bedside when he was ill, heavy shopping trips when money was scarce, washing, cooking, nightshifts 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 shed be 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 carried on as if nothing had happened?
People say children owe nothing to their parents. 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 and no longer belongs in their life. 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.
