by Margo Walter
The plan was to fly to Nassau and then charter a sea plane to ferry us to Compass Cay in the Exumas. In other words, we would revisit the island where I lost my virginity in my adventuresome adolescence. Vacationing on a remote island without a boat is sort of like visiting Pike’s Peak to ascend without hiking boots. However, we did have a blow-up life raft. While balanced on one of the tippy pontoons of the sea plane, I did manage to inflate the six-man raft. With four large duffle bags and five people, we paddled (folding paddles) to the dock and began the most amazing escapade in our lives.
First, Wes was still wounded. He had stitches following his collar bone surgery and a first aid dressing that required a daily changing. Sand did not contribute to Wes’s well-being. I forgot to mention that two of the duffle bags contained two tents, two tarps, and camping equipment and supplies for two weeks. My mother’s plan of action was to set up camp on the beach, put on our bikinis, and snorkel every day on the reef. She did not include the sand fleas. Night one was a disaster. We were all getting bitten and Wes seemed to be allergic to every flea. His incision did not fare well. Fortunately, for all of us, we met Hester Crawford.
There are only two houses on Compass Cay. The clubhouse that housed the local bar, the only bar, and maintained the marina, and the hexagon-shaped cottage that sat high on the rocks at the opposite end of the cove where we were camping. By day two, Wes was in dire straits, fresh water was a problem, and we were all miserable. The only relief was head for the sea, and it was not that warm in March. There was this old woman walking down the beach and quite a sight with her big floppy hat, flip-flops, and cut-off jeans. She approached and asked if we would like to visit her house for a cup of hot tea. Within the hour, we had met Hester and were all gathered on her large screened porch. The view was magnificent and so was she. When she heard about the sand fleas, Wes’s stitches, and our lack of water, she invited us to move our camp to her porch. My mother was an immensely proud woman with a huge ego, and she balked at the invitation. She did not want to admit to her lack of proper planning or her incompetent nurse’s training, which was thirty-five years earlier. She only completed one semester and dropped out of the medical program. Hester was so gracious and convinced my mother that this would be good for her, as she sometimes was very lonely since her husband died. In other words, we would be doing her a favor. Smart woman.
We moved the camp that afternoon and learned the story of Hester Crawford. Her husband had written the song “Over the Wild Blue Yonder,” and she had built her house overlooking one of the most beautiful white sand coves in the world from the royalties that she received from the song. She was a crusty broad and enjoyed her isolation until we descended upon her. Wes healed and the rest of us survived with the help of Hester. The sea plane returned eight days later, and we reversed the process by inflating our life raft and boarding the plane. The pilot flew over Hester’s cottage, tipped his wings, and we all waved farewell. Back to Nassau, Geneva, and finally Gstaad. No one will forget that vacation and it did make us stronger. Wes and I headed back to Vienna and some sense of normalcy. I still had to complete my time as a newlywed. We had two more months to live in an incredible gorgeous city and I described it as completing a jail term. Why was I so discontent and not grateful for the opportunities we had been given? Wes asked the same question in a different way. What was wrong with his new wife?
The semester came to a close, and it was time to go home to Pennsylvania to set up our house, enroll in college, and get Wes into law school. He had done exceptionally well in his law board exams, so we were optimistic that he would get accepted. His intellect was still one of the primary reasons I was attracted to him. I was proud of him, but almost like a piece of property. The love was there, but I was extraordinarily codependent, and my entire life revolved around him. I had to have the perfect house, the best-looking lawn and garden on the block, and the right friends. The drinking slowed down, and I actually did make some new friends—law school wives and neighbors around our house. Making that house a “home” was much more difficult. I knew one thing: I did not want this home to be anything like the places where I grew up. I had just become an adult. Not only could I vote, but I could drink legally. That was funny.
Comparing my first new home to my mother’s many waterfront homes, expensive chalets, villas, casas or “whatever” was impossible. Being an adult meant being fiscally responsible too. It was time to talk about money.
***
My stepfather had a hugely successful construction and development company when he died. He left my mother with enough money that she would never have to work again, and she could spend money recklessly and not feel a pinch. The message that I got was that money was not anything you should ever worry about and if it was there, spend it. The whole family expended nicely and became used to a lifestyle that few enjoy. There were some checks and balances on the bank accounts. The executor of the estate had his hands full with my mother’s spending, and he ended up pocketing more than his share. However, the money continued to flow, and all the kids had very handsome trusts that provided for quality education, trips to the Bahamas, brick houses, and $200 jeans from Gstaad. In short, I would never have to work either, if I watched my personal spending. I ignored that part.
When it came time for Wes and me to settle down in a home of our own, I had a difficult time accepting our lower standard of living. It never crossed my mind that we were twenty-one years of age and able to buy a house, put Wes through Law School, and travel when we felt like it. There was no gratitude because I did not know how the other half lived. How did people who worked full-time and still struggled financially stay happy? My attitude was still focused on my mother and comparing our lot in life with hers. After all, she owed me for all those lies growing up, or so I thought.
The best thing about our new home was that there was an ocean between her Swiss chalet and our place. It was a lovely little brick house with nothing in it except books and more books. It probably resembled most new couples’ first house, but I wanted it to be unique, to be decorated with our tastes, and be a place I did not want to run away from. The spending did get out of hand more than once. The credit cards maxed out, and I would just call the attorney or my mother to bail us out like she had done all my life. In fact, the only relationship that my mother and I had, at this time, focused on money.
Wes’s family lived on the Main Line, outside of Philadelphia, and pretended to be wealthy. They had nothing, gave us nothing, and continuously reminded Wes that he was a kept man. Wes’s pride was an issue, and his ego was bruised many times during those first years of marriage. It was time for a change and wow, were we blessed!
Chapter 4: Spreading My Wings
Absolute joy describes my reaction to the news that I was pregnant. After all, I had lots of practice parenting my younger brother and sister, and I wanted a baby. I knew that we would have the perfect family. My mother invited herself for the big moment, but I was glad to get the help. I sent the Admiral an announcement, and he did respond. In fact, once I received that congratulatory letter, we began routine writing of letters that continued until his death. I kept each one of them in a red plastic notebook, and I was secretly proud of my father’s accomplishments that spanned the globe. I learned that he really was famous and had a celebrated career in the Navy and after he left the military. I wished that I could have shared my secrets with someone. It was time to look at those early letters and try to get some perspective on this relationship.
June 1969: The First Letter
“Dear Janet… Life has many experiences, both good and bad, but as we mature and see it in a broader perspective, our values and ideas change in many ways. First I want you to know I loved your mother and you are the offspring of a very deep love…. There was one resolve I made with your mother and that was you were never to suffer in any way for our actions…. Our secret was one that had to be kept for many reasons for the world is a cruel p
lace in many ways and there were many other people involved…. I have thought about you for many years and now we will have an opportunity to know each other…. Unfortunately I leave for Japan Sunday and will be in the Far East for a while but intend to come to Europe real soon and hope to come see you or meet you in Europe…. We have so much to catch up on and I do so want you to be happy….”
A long poem was included in that first letter, and the Admiral described himself as a romantic, a descendant of Percy Shelley, and a pragmatic in other ways. He ended the letter by stating:
“… Hope this letter gives you as much pleasure as it gives me in writing to you. I hope you know you are loved and that I will do anything for you I possibly can. Take care of yourself and kiss your mother for me. Love, Daddy”
February 1971
“My dearest Janet… My return to New York found your message about your wedding. Fate prevented me from being there, but I know I would have been if it had been possible…. I will come see you when you tell me where you will live…. Marriage is not easy at best but just remember that love and understanding will assist man times. Marriage is not just the sex side of life, but it carries a burden of many other responsibilities to both parties. There are so many things a father can say on the subject. If one were to describe love with one word, it would be sacrifice…. I could go on for days and probably will when I see you. Love, Matt”
January 1972
“Dear Janet: Here in snow-covered Istanbul and going back to Ankara, Turkey ….I definitely will surprise you and show up in Gstaad. Can’t give you any specifics but you may be sure it will happen….I have so many things I want to do but haven’t done in my busy life….Hope to really study and write which I always have loved….This is just a quick note to say I am delighted to hear all is well now and wish you a happy New Year and to say I was delighted with 1971 and that you are my daughter….Love, Matt”
March 1972
“Dear Janet…I was distressed we couldn’t get together in Vienna but fate wasn’t very kind to me and I do have to do my job for they pay me an awful lot of money. I still love your mother and do dream we will get together and hope it can by soon….Up until 1968 I had been to every war including Southeast Asia so must comment on that for it is uppermost in everyone’s mind….The so called Pentagon papers are all the talk these days. Why are they misleading? Because they leave out so much….It is a privileged thing to be an American Citizen and now that 18-year-olds can vote maybe the voice of youth will be heard. I have been all over the world and say this is the only land for me. Fromm Kabul to Melbourne, Capetown and the Congo to Helsinki, they are all fascinating and I go many other places but this is my land….When you come to talk to me, be prepared. I would love to discuss so many things with you and tell you so many other things. I can’t wait….When you see your mother kiss her for me. Love, Dad”
April 1972
“Dear Janet:…Be intellectually curious about everything not just a specialty or something you like. Discipline your mind and increase your mental capacity in every way you can. You can be an achiever in your own right. I know. What shall I do? I am going back to school and will probably wind up as a professor at Harvard or some other university….The whole world is before you, there for the taking, with only yourself to be the catalyst to decide what you want to do and learn about it be it business, history or archeology….There is going to be no inner light or someone to lead you by the hand. The world is cruel and heartless and many times we are our own worst enemy….I have been in the Orient and Persia most of the recent months….I have an office in Tokyo and will be there on business….All the swish people go to Gstaad and so I am not with the in crowd….Give my love to your mother. She is such a doll. Maybe I should just go and be the houseboy or the butler. Take care of yourself. Much love, Matt”
July 1972
“Dear Janet: Just a short note to tell you hello and that I loved your letter….Have a meeting in Hawaii this coming week but will be back shortly and I hope on my way to you to stop and say hello….Still haven’t really decided on Harvard or the Navy College or a bit of both. I haven’t really had time to really try my hand at writing. Being a descendant of Shelley I should be able to do a bit….I miss the sea out here in Middle America (St. Louis). Guess I have salt in my veins. I will give you a call on the phone to say hello. Love, Dad”
December 1972
“My dear Janet, …At the moment I am in our little beach house in Florida. It is a relief to see the ocean again….As industry makes one retire when 65, I must leave this month. I am not really 65 but it is hard to change one’s age back but then it really makes no difference. I did have to fudge my age by 2 years to enlist in the Navy when I was 15 so I guess I am stuck with it….Do you have a telephone?...I will be in Washington in January and will try to drive up to Pennsylvania to see you. I am dying to see you. Have a Merry Christmas! Love, Dad”
December 1973
“I will move to Washington in the spring. I finished my first five years in civilian life and now can do what I want with 2/3rds of my time….I enjoyed running the International Operations for the company and have seen much more of the world in recent years than I really needed….I still intend to get to Switzerland….Time will be more available now than before so I should make it. Kiss that grandson for me. Love, Dad”
The letters became less frequent from both of us as the Admiral was moving cross country and I began my next journey into motherhood.
Hands down! Being pregnant, giving birth, and nurturing babies were the high points of my entire lifetime. Fortunately, the pregnancies were uneventful, relatively easy, and very healthful, physically and mentally. I stopped doing drugs while I was pregnant and reduced my alcohol consumption to zero. I exercised, took Lamaze classes, joined the La Leche League and waited patiently for the “big moment.”
It was a Friday afternoon, tea-time, and I was reading some baby book on the living room sofa. This was one of 22 books that I had read about babies. I wanted to be prepared. My mother and Wes, my husband, were occupied with stuff that they did and no one seemed to react when I announced that “my water just broke and the contractions are pretty strong.” They both looked at me with that now-what stare until I suggested strongly that we all head to the hospital. The next few moments should have been part of a soap opera. Wes was yelling that he had to make his sandwich and pack his bag for the big event. He had learned about this in the Lamaze classes to survive the long labor. My mother volunteered to make his sandwich but could not find the mustard. I reminded both of them that I needed to get to the hospital now.
Prepared for a ten-hour first labor, my first son came into the world after only three hours of manageable contractions. “He’s beautiful!” It is all I could say as I held him for the first time. My smile said it all. This was the happiest day; the most wonderful moment of my entire life. George was not only my first born, but I knew that I had finally done something right, something “perfect” in my eyes. He had blond hair (just enough), gorgeous brown eyes, and fat little cheeks. At eight pounds and fourteen ounces, George was a big baby and hungry twenty-four hours a day. That was fine with me because I did not want anyone to take him back to the nursery and was quite elated to hold him forever, one hour at a time. On the second day at the hospital, the nurse brought my new son to me, and he had scratched his nose with his fingernail. Even though it was cute, it upset me. I never wanted him to experience any hurt, pain, or discomfort for as long as he lived. That was a full-time job and proved to be impossible. The pediatric nurse trimmed his fingernails, and the new Mom and baby George went home the following day. The nursery at our home was picture perfect, and the white bassinet was right next to our bed. It seemed like every action by my mother or Wes, his new Dad, created a reaction in George and both parents agreed that he was not only gorgeous but brilliant. It would be great fun to spoil our first child forever.
That bo
nd endured until the present day with me, his Mom, but unfortunately, ended abruptly with his Dad. Our divorce (nine years later) trashed the relationship George had with his father. It was impossible for either one of them to ever repair the damage.
George was a well-traveled baby and crossed the Atlantic Ocean four times before he was age two. At six weeks, he went to visit his grandmother in Switzerland, wore Swiss lederhosen, nursed on an Alpine chairlift, and hiked up and down several mountains in a backpack. He was held and cuddled by Julie Andrews when she came to visit my mother. George was indeed a miracle baby, and it was a Swiss doctor who made it all possible.
When Wes and I decided to have a baby, I was devastated to discover that I had not ovulated and pregnancy was very unlikely. However, an assertive fertility specialist in Geneva, Switzerland recommended ninety days of daily hormone injections, and it worked. Our son was living proof that miracles do happen and something spectacular could be the result of trials and tribulations. The word was hope. I had never believed in that word or thought it would ever be part of my life, my future.
Wes was finishing up Law School, and we were raising our son with the expectation of having three more children just like him. A girl would be lovely. That decision confirmed my career choice to be a stay-at-home mom and do what I loved doing best--caring for babies.
Twenty-three months later, David was born in less than a two-hour labor and literally popped into the world on Friday, the 13th. Shock was the best description of the reaction that the doctors and we had for his arrival. George was my blond toe-head and here comes our second son with bright, very bright, orange, red hair. And lots of it! Neither Wes nor I knew of any redheads in our families, but here he was. We looked at each other like the delivery doctor had just told us he was striped and finally someone broke the silence with “it’s a boy”! He was so gorgeous. Plump and lively like his brother, it appeared that we had just witnessed another miracle. Not to be!