The mother and daughter

Introduction

I thought I’d be fine. I’d gone to another wedding just last month and somehow survived it. But this one – this event, was the one that showed me that I did not matter.

The stakes were high. I really didn’t want to be left out, so I ignored the few who told me not to go and went anyway. I told myself I survived the last one, so I’ll survive this one too.

The wedding event

Everyone showed up.

And everyone showed up in their best pink attire. The venue was electric, with sound engineers, stage lighting, a dessert spread, and a beautiful cake with my cousin, the bride’s, name on it.

None of it, none of it, could have been done alone. You could tell it was all hands on deck. Friends. Family. The circle of people the bride could count on.

She had a bridal entrance where her mother wept as soon as she saw her beautiful daughter. Her daughter, who was soon to leave the family home, leaving her mama, moving on to the next chapter of her life as a married woman.

Growing up, my cousin’s mother, my aunt, I wanted her so badly to be my mother. I even called her “mum” when I was a young child.

And now here I was, standing at this wedding, watching someone else live in a world of love and abundance.

Everything I should have had, but didn’t.

And I felt like I deserved it.

My cousin and her siblings were posing for perfect family photos, a family that gathers, that shows up, that makes things happen.

And me, realising in that moment that I will never have that with my own siblings. When I got married, and when they get married, there won’t be this kind of beautiful event we all pull together to create. There won’t be memories built out of love and closeness.

So when it was my turn to get married, I didn’t have a circle. I had to piece one together all by myself. I had to hire people, recruit friends, bring in coordinators. Where there should have been warmth and memories, there were cold, transactional approaches. Where there should have been family, there were strangers.

Then came the finale portion of the night, performances and dances. My cousin had people in her life she could dance with. Time she would have spent in the days and weeks before the event putting those dances together. Quality, unforgettable, lifetime memories created.

There was nothing left for me to do but sit there and witness everything I ever wanted, all at once, all in one single room.

As everyone was absorbed in the dance performance, laughing, clapping, cheering for the bride. Endless streams of tears ran down my face. My mind kept flashing back to moments from the night, especially how this bride was so loved by her mother.

And just like that, I thought I was better off dead. Nobody truly cares about me. That’s why I never got it all.