When you don't feel enough

"Mother's Day! Oh, we need to organise what to do for Mother's Day!" My sisters-in-law gathered excitedly around their mother, giggling like teenagers instead of the thirty-somethings they were. They began to discuss options whilst I carried on showing my husband's niece photos of my cat on my phone, whom she adored.

I pretended not to hear the commotion behind me. The reality was, unbeknownst to them, they were slowly but surely digging a knife into my heart.

I was newly married, and we were all gathered at my parents-in-laws' house, celebrating my mother-in-law's birthday. And now they were planning Mother's Day, just a month later.

Did they realise just how lucky they were to be able to plan these events at all? Did they realise just how lucky they were to even still have a mother?

As always, my husband squeezed my hand in his silent but loving I've got you way. He couldn't pretend to understand what it was like to have a mother in heaven. But he understood me so well; he could tell when the grief-o-meter was about to blow.

As soon as our niece was finished looking at my photos, I walked around the side of the house to compose myself. Here was where the barbecue and the wine cellar was situated, as well as a pizza oven. It was also the place where I always escaped during these family gatherings to take five minutes' reprieve whenever the happy family chatter got too much for me.

A colourful wall of foliage greeted me on the left hand side. It always reminded me of a fairy garden. It also comforted me that my mother-in-law had a great love for colourful animal statues, like my own mum had, and that my dad and older sister still kept. However, unlike at my own parents' home there were no real animals here, at least not anymore. After the family dog had passed away, my parents-in-law decided not to adopt any more pets - "it's too hard for us to go away," my father-in-law had explained when I'd asked about any future plans for more furbabies.

How I sorely wished that I had been on the scene when their little dog was still alive. He would have made a wonderful furry therapist and a marvellous little buffer around these people with whom I had no common ground with - except for my hubby! These happy, happy people who were blessedly clueless when it came to knowing what it was like to lose a mother. I envied them that so much. So. Damn Much.

The kids found me. Our beautiful niece who had loved looking at my cat's photos on my phone. Our older niece, who proudly showed me her first attempt at creating a meme. Our cat loving niece asked me to play hide and seek. I suggested that she ask her uncle as I wasn't feeling well however I was more than happy to watch. Satisfied with this, a game was set up.

So that I felt useful and a part of things, I took out my phone and began capturing happy snaps. I love photography, and at the last gathering I had taken my Nikon and, with my mother-in-law's permission, captured my best photos, tagged my husband on Facebook so they could all see and share them if they wanted to.

I didn't think things would be any different this time. I captured photos of the kids playing, sliding down the slippery dip, and singing Happy Birthday to their grandma and helping her blow out the candles. I uploaded them to my page and tagged my husband. These happy little scenes reminded me of the years of when my own nieces and nephew were young and were helping their own grandmother celebrate her birthday. They were adults now, and I dearly missed those times. Knowing that my own potential children would never sing Happy Birthday to their maternal grandmother broke my heart. Capturing them for the benefit of my other family made me smile.

However, sharing happy snaps on Facebook, at least by me, was now not okay, according to my sister-in-law, and she demanded to my husband that we "don't put the kids on Facebook" although it still seemed perfectly fine to steal one of the photos that I'd taken and share on their own Facebook pages!

Okay, I thought, so they've thrown that well-meaning gesture back in my face... how else was I to try and connect with them and prove to them that I came in peace?

I was already tired from trying to hold myself together, watching the kids and grandkids spend time with their family matriarch and still missing mine so very much, so my sister-in-law's demand just added to my growing anxiety. Not to mention the fact that there was nothing I could add to the general chit chat of the afternoon. I didn't have any children yet, I couldn't brag about any house renovations because we were renting. No one was interested in hearing about my animals so in the end I just sat there until I felt my anxiety just about bubbling over to the point when I just had to escape to the front yard. I texted my husband, apologising. He knew exactly what had happened inside me. So many conflicting emotions had mixed and swirled to the surface and exploded.

It was yet another black mark against me with the family however. I'd had an anxiety attack. However, in the eyes of the family I had been rude to walk out. Did I apologise and try to explain? Of course. But trying to make yourself understood to a group of people who will hopefully have their mother around for a good many years yet don’t want to hear about it.

What further broke me was seeing tears in my mother-in-law's eyes as she hugged me goodbye. I hate making anyone cry. I had burst her birthday bubble. I had ruined her happy party. But were her tears for herself, or me, or for us both?

I would never know. All I knew was, I wished I could crawl away and hibernate, preferably forever.

A few years have passed now since that day. I have attended other birthday parties of theirs since then, albeit with more than a tinge of sadness, for which I've been having grief counselling. I've kept my camera in its box; my phone in my handbag. I compromise, for the benefit of my darling husband. We take separate cars, so if it feels that the atmosphere is getting the better of me, I can politely take my leave.

The benefit of hindsight is a wonderful thing. I consider myself a work in progress. Not just in my healing, from losing my mum. But I've also come to realise:

• That even after six years without my mum, spending time with an "in tact" family, certain events will always trigger memories for me. I will do my best to ride through them. But when there are days when I just can't, then that's okay.
• That as the only female in-law, I'm on my own. I am not part of the all male in-law clique, nor do I belong with, nor relate to, the all-female clique. In fact, in general, I am my own person.
• That as an introvert from a small family, trying to mix with a large, extroverted family, my energy from their constant get-togethers and large scale events is depleted very easily. I have learned to choose the easier ones and try to adapt accordingly.
• And lastly - most importantly: I can't please everyone.

I'm just a girl who is trying to do the best she can. I know who loves me. I know who's got my back. And for me, that is more than enough.

I can't tell you the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everyone. - Ed Sheeran