**The Forgotten Guest: A Mothers Quiet Heartbreak Over a Wedding Snub**
My son didnt invite me to his weddingapparently, Im too old. Now Im left wondering if I ever mattered to him at all.
The memory of that day still feels hazy, like a bad dream. It was my sister who called, chirping down the line:
*Guess what? Your boys gone and got married!*
I went silent.
*What?* I managed. *Married? You must be mistaken. Hed have told me. I am his mother, after all*
But she wasnt wrong. Her own son had spotted the photos onlinemine in a sharp suit, a radiant bride in white beside him, flowers everywhere, waiters gliding about, a band playing. The caption read: *Best day of my life.*
I sat frozen in the kitchen. The kettle screeched. Pancakes cooled in the pan. My mind latched onto one question: *Why?* Why hadnt he even mentioned it?
I had him late, at thirty-one. These days, thats nothing, but back then, the midwives tutted about geriatric first-time mums. Ten years later, his father dropped dead of a heart attack at work. Just like that, it was the two of us. I gave everything for that boyworked nights, scrimped, skipped holidaysjust so hed never want for anything. My life? Tossed aside. No hobbies, no nights out. Just him.
He grew up, graduated, moved into a flat. I kept my distance, happy enough when he popped round with a bag of apples, muttering, *Yeah, works fine.* Then one day, he brought Emilysweet, unpretentious, a decade younger. I liked her instantly. *Good,* I thought. *Hes found his person.*
After they left, I lingered at the table, grinning, already picturing christenings. If hed introduced us, it was serious. And of *course* if they married, Id be there.
Turns out, I was wrong.
When I rang him, he didnt pick up. He called back later, breezy as ever. I steadied my voice:
*Anything youd like to tell me?*
A pause.
*Oh. You heard. Yeah, we tied the knot yesterday. Off to the Maldives tomorrow. Was going to swing by*
Sure enough, half an hour later, there he wasflowers in one hand, a lemon tart in the other. A peck on the cheek. Sat there, cool as you please.
*Yeah, we had a do. Kept it small, though. Just mates. You knowloud music, dancing Thought it might be a bit much for you.* As if hed merely spared me a rowdy pub crawl.
*What about Emilys parents?* I asked.
*Oh, them? Yeah. But theyre barely forty*
Something inside me cracked.
*And Im sixty. Not your vibe anymore, is that it?*
He stared at his plate, shovelling in dessert. I studied him, searching for the moment wed become strangers. I didnt need their disco-lit reception. But the registry office? Why did I have to hear about it from Auntie Margaret?
*Didnt cross our minds,* he said.
*Didnt cross our minds.* The cruelest part? It wasnt anger or even sadnessit was the sheer *nothingness* of it. He hadnt *bothered*. The idea never occurred to him.
Yet Id given up everything. Nights mopping his fevered brow. Hauling heavy bags when money was tight. Cooking, cleaning, working late so hed have trainers that didnt earn him sneers. Never let him see me buckle.
And him? He got married. Without me. Without a second thought that his mum might sit alone in this too-quiet house, flipping through old photos, wondering: *Did I ever matter?*
Now I ask myself: If I hadnt called, would he have told me? Or just carried on, business as usual?
People say children owe their parents nothing. Fine. But is it too much to expect not to be *forgotten* on the day they call the happiest of their lives?
He left. The silence settled. No shouting, no drama. I just let go.
Maybe there comes a time when every parent must face it: their child is grown. And theres no room left for them. I just never thought it would hurt this much.
Life has a way of teaching you that love doesnt guarantee gratitudeand sometimes, you have to love without expecting anything back.
