A letter to … my dear son-in-law

Well here we are, 11 years have passed since I became your mother-in-law and we are still speaking to each other as you approach your 40th birthday. We have survived the proverbial mother-in-law jokes.

I remember as if it was yesterday, the moment I set eyes on you, the thought popped into my mind "well, that's my future son-in-law". That good-looking Irish guy with a twinkle in his eye. My daughter had perhaps indicated by her rather restrained description of you that this was someone different. I was not prepared, however, for the shock that came when I realised that indeed she would be married and maybe I would be replaced on the scale of affection.

And how I loved, and still of course love, my daughter – maybe the fact that in the early 1970s I was the single mum who had broken with convention, when it was still the norm to marry to have children (how irritating it was in hospital to have the nurses insist on calling me Mrs!). No husband, no partner and on top of that a beautiful little girl who by her paternal parentage was of mixed race. We had a happy life: we laughed, we cried, we played and yes we fought, but our love was strong and beautiful … and then you came along.

It is difficult sharing. As a teacher I see the battles that go on as children learn to compromise. To share what they treasure is rarely easy, and for me perhaps that was the same. I shed not a tear at the wedding – perhaps it was the Irish party mood – but when I left you at the airport for you to fly to America with your lovely new wife, the tears started and only stopped two days later.

Now 11 years and three grandchildren later, how is it between us in-laws? I value the love you give to my daughter, I value the love you give to my three lively grandchildren, but more than that I value the fact that you have left the relationship between mother and daughter intact. My daughter and I have our disagreements, and indeed there have been times when we have fought bitterly: never once have you taken sides, but stepped back. Not out of cowardice but perhaps because you have recognised that what we have is special and it is not your place to interfere.

There are many aspects of your life that I worry about as you know: your stressful job, your lifestyle that means you are away so much, but on the other hand I realise selfishly that means I can have more time with my daughter. So we go on.

I hope you will be around when I am not, to nurture your wife, care for the children and to help fill the void that my going will, I think, leave. She will need you then, perhaps, more than ever before. I think we have done well, you and I, and I hope what we have is a mutual respect with a good dose of love thrown in so that can't be bad!

Happy birthday, son (well, nearly)

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