Just a few months ago, my only son married. I’m fortunate in that I get on well with his beautiful, bright young wife.

But still, when the confetti fluttered over the smiling faces of the newlyweds, I felt deep sadness as well as joy.

Of course, I know that was always the deal. You raise a son in order to lose him. If, like me, you are lucky enough to give birth to a kind individual — said to be handsome and dashing, too — it’s no wonder a discerning female wants to share her life with him and their babies.

That is what nature intended.

But oh dear, it makes me mourn life without him in a way that’s so different to when my daughter, now 35, married. The old cliche, ‘A son’s a son ‘til he takes a wife, but a daughter is a daughter all her life’ has far too much truth in it to be altogether comfortable.

Mothers often talk of the ache when their children fly the nest. But you don’t really lose a son until he marries — after all, you’re still the most important woman in his life. But this comes to an abrupt halt when a woman in a frothy white dress walks down the aisle with him.

Belinda Edwards confessed she felt deep sadness watching her only son get married

We all grieve the passing of a stage of life, and that helps ready us for the next. But so keenly is this loss felt, it’s no wonder the age-old tension between daughter and mother-in-law exists.

Like many mothers, I have not found the situation easy. After all, Mark had been my baby. I have loved him all these years with a fiercely protective, all-encompassing love. How can I unlove him, downgrade it to an easy warmth?

After a grim pregnancy of continual sickness, Mark was born two weeks late, a robust baby, the second child in our family and the first boy. I wrote in my diary three days after his birth 32 years ago: ‘Very happy and peaceful. Beautiful, tranquil son lies beside me in his Perspex cot. 9lb 3oz, in fine health.’

At home days later, I wrote: ‘Lie in bed feeding Mark while the rain throws itself at the window. He is good natured, peaceful, full of desire for food and sleep.’

There are so many memories. I think back to the day I was feeling sad, and he said in a matter-of-fact voice: ‘I love you so much. I love everything about you, the way you move, the way you speak, the way you eat.’

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He grinned, a boyish lopsided grin, then loped off, his trousers a little too short as he was growing so very quickly.

Mark used to wear a thin, grey sweater, a loose tie and would wipe jammy hands on his trousers. When he returned from school he would pile toast and strawberry jam on his plate, taking out all the strawberries. Now he and his wife can rustle up elegant dinner parties in next to no time, but I wonder if he still shovels strawberries to one side.

Once, when he was unwell, aged five, he curled up in my arms, muttering: ‘This is only because I’m ill. When I’m better you mustn’t expect . . .’ I laughed, kissed him and he melted into me like soft clay.

But I know I can not cling on to my beloved son. He has to make his own family, his own life, his own support system — which isn’t me because I will not live for ever. I might even be the one needing support one day.

Belinda believes realising the relationship between mother and daughter-in-law is programmed to be difficult can help to overcome problems (file image)

It is in neither of our best interests for me to do anything but support his new life. There’s a new regime and the wedding was a formal acknowledgement of that, of him joining his wife’s family in a sense. It’s not just a celebration of romantic love. He had a long-term relationship before, but marriage is different. It is a public and legal affirmation of the couple’s ties. She is even, gulp, his next of kin now.

Cecil Day-Lewis memorably described the pain of seeing his son ‘walking away from me towards the school’ in a poem. The last two lines read: ‘How selfhood begins with a walking away, And love is proved in the letting go.’

It’s easier for a man to write that than a woman. What I fear is not so much losing him as being unable to protect him. Of course, my husband loves his son deeply but he’s not as protective.

The relationship between mother and son is hard for the daughter-in-law too. The older woman has the history and a 30-year or more bond rather than one of two or three years.

Even now, Mark and I still don’t always have to talk to know what the other is thinking. I remember his wife staring at us recently after he answered a question of mine. ‘Mark, she didn’t ask you that question.’

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We did not know what she was talking about. It turned out I had just thought the question, not said it out loud. Whoops.

‘You guys,’ she said, affectionately I hope, shaking her head. No wonder new wives sometimes don’t want the mother around.

The fact that two women have an intense love for one man is a recipe for conflict, unless they deploy caution and good sense.

Online forums are full of wives enraged by husbands failing to side with them: ‘Whose side is he on?’ In the end, though, it is the new wife who is queen, and the old one should acknowledge that gracefully. Remember, you are both on the same side; his side.

I was at lunch with my 85-year-old mother-in-law and my husband recently when I stole a morsel of food from his heaving plate. ‘Don’t take his food,’ she snapped. ‘He’ll have nothing left.’

At the time I was irritated, but now I understand how much a mother wants to protect her son.

Just before my son married, I asked friends for advice on the tricky mother and daughter-in-law relationship. Most said: ‘Button your lip. Don’t offer any advice unless asked, and even then don’t. You will be seen as interfering even if trying to help.’

One suggested being warm, and taking the wife on shopping trips to show you cared about her as well as your son.

The relationship between mother and daughter-in-law is programmed to be difficult 

But psychologist Terri Apter’s book What Do You Want From Me? Learning To Get Along With In-laws, for which she interviewed over 200 couples, found the best way was for both parties to keep a certain distance.

The advantage being it was less likely for the mother-in-law to offer well-meaning tips and insights which would infuriate the daughter-in-law.

There are fewer boundaries overall these days. I am friends with my son and that’s not unusual. Some acquaintances go on action-packed holidays with theirs while their husbands wearily say they’d rather play golf.

This shift makes the relationship between mothers and sons more comparable to that of wife and husband, in a way.

I must say I envied my friend who was off recently to climb all of England’s highest mountains with her dazzlingly handsome 25-year-old son.

He is her friend and confidant and a perfect companion. He can also solve internet problems. Enjoy him while you can, I said. He’ll be sorting out someone else’s computer glitches soon.

Hmmm. But he may also have babies for her to love.

The relationship between mother and daughter-in-law is programmed to be difficult. But as long as we realise this, we can surely overcome it.

As for the loss of a son, perhaps this needs to be viewed differently too. After all Mark has found the person he was meant to be — strong, loving, confident and glowing with happiness with a woman every bit his match.

Surely I have, in a way, found my son, not lost him.

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