Mother Wears White to Daughter’s Wedding — But the Bride Has the Perfect Response

And on my wedding day, the anniversary of her deepest grief, her lost child, her shattered dreams, she had worn that same dress. Not to upstage me. Not for malice. But as a silent, desperate commemoration. A plea. A quiet scream. A way to finally acknowledge the life she lost, the wedding she never had, the mother she couldn’t be. And I, in my self-righteous anger, had made her invisible. I had turned my back on her pain. I had publicly shamed her, thinking I was teaching her a lesson, when all along, she was trying to tell me something I was too blind, too consumed by my own day, to see. The perfect response? No. It was the most heartbreaking mistake of my life. And I can never, ever take it back.