I know what you mean about this kind of sadness. The sadness of not being fully embraced and celebrated by your parents. I've found this to be very painful to face.
I came out to my parents after my Dad cornered me one day while in graduate school and pressed the issue. Thanksgiving loomed ahead about two months. When it came my mother made sure to tell me that she wouldn't be comfortable with me bringing my then boyfriend. I responded with: "If he can't come I won't either." Blink. Pause. "Ok." She said. We went and they had a something of a new respect for me as a person after that.
Now. I've been with my guy about 14 years now (third major relationship since Thanksgiving guy) and while they ask about hubby and are as nice as they can be, do I imagine them bragging about us to their friends? No. There're zooming towards their 80's and still aren't comfortable talking about relationships much less the one I'm having with another man. They're still in that 'if you go to a therapist there must be something wrong with you' mode.
But our parents limitations are fixed. I see glimmers in my own that indicate that they get that love is love. And if we stand in our own love long enough it's bound to rub off on them and perhaps teach us something as well. In a nutshell, this is what I have learned:
1) Love is not a transaction. In the end, we don't get it from anyone. It doesn't come from things- only through them. Has it made me furious that I haven't gotten what I think I've deserved from them? You bet. But I've seen, over time, that my anger does nothing but eat me alive- especially so because I've haven't been in a relationship with my parents to address this issue or any other one that matters to me. A huge catch 22 here: a better relatioship itself would undoubtedly keep the whole situation from arising.
2) I have to give I want to have. This has been the real toughy. I've had to unhook myself from my parents and- to put it frankly- grow up. Keep in mind: these were two people who never said :"I love you" at the end of conversations much less ever. Heck. I thought: "What am I waiting for?' So I started saying it. All the time after every phone conversation. Pause. Silence. Pause. My mother's faint voice, sounding all cracked and worn: "I love you too." Boy. I thought. I have a lot of work to do.
As children we think everything should work out a certain way. Life seems to be much more interesting than that.
Be the love you seek.