Are You My Father?

by Margo Walter

  At the moment I am engaged in writing a complete story of my life and the problems, defeats, and fun. It isn’t for publishing but for the children, and I will see you get a copy for I try to tell it like it is. Naturally, there will be a lot unsaid for I wouldn’t cover a lot of things in it. I kept a journal during my years in the Navy for forty-three years and it makes interesting reading now in light of the history that has gone by for I talk about Hitler, Mussolini, and many things over those years as we walked the road to World War II. Then there is the time when I have the Task Force in the Yellow Sea with the run from the Han to the Yalu in the Korean War as the ground support for the 1st Marine Division. Anyway, I will have fun doing it and do like to use my IBM, so you see I am busy and feeling much better. Love, Matt”

  February 2, 1986

  “Dear Janet… We always seem to be at the other place when we try to get together…. If you came thru Jacksonville I would go see you but that is not very satisfactory and would rather make it to Rehoboth…. I hope you are really hanging in there on your rebuilding of your life. I know you can do it. I will do my best to help complete part of the puzzle for all of life is really a puzzle and we have only one to live and it will be all over all too soon so make the most of it. Love, Matt”

  April 22, 1986

  “Dear Matt… I did complete college and will be graduating May 17. I know it is too much to expect you to attend but I will ask anyway. I am a glutton for rejection, but I am working on that too…. Could we meet in D.C.? When? I need to see you. I need to talk to you face to face. The letters help but I know now that I need all the help that I can get in order to survive. Persistence and “press on” have helped tremendously and I guess this is one of those days that putting one foot in front of the other is what that means. I am my worst critic and am finding out that it is OK not to be perfect, to make mistakes, and to suffer that condition known as “humanness.” I always have a great deal that I want to say to you but am afraid of saying too much…. I am discovering that life is an adventure. I was very happy to hear that you did write your autobiography and do hope you will give me a copy. I need to tell you that my children know about you and that you are my father. Children are so accepting and not judgmental. I wish that you could meet them. They are the one thing that I did right, and I know that they really are a gift from God. When all the escapes failed and it came time to face reality and discover life on life’s terms, the children and I made a pact. No more lies, no more secrets, and we would try to build a life based on trust. It is not happening overnight, but the love is there and through honesty, George, David, and Kate are beginning to trust their mother, ME…. Please take care of yourself and remember that I love you. With love, Janet”

  ***

  Part of recovery is the willingness to make amends to anyone that you harmed in your past. Being drunk and high when I first met my father was at the top of that list. The cherry blossoms were still blooming in Washington, D.C. on May 18, 1986. My father was getting older by the week, and my sponsor suggested that I go see him sooner than later. She agreed to go with me, and we set out for our nation’s capital. I was about to learn the magic of forgiveness.

  Meeting at a different restaurant and having realistic expectations set the stage for me to not say that I was sorry, but to describe the changes in my life and ask for forgiveness for my unacceptable behavior at our initial meeting five years before. We had stayed in touch with the letters, so I did not expect any big surprises. Maybe we would not recognize each other.

  May 19, 1986

  Dear Matt,“I will have on a blue dress.

  Dear Janet, “I have on a blue suit.”

  I was shocked how old my father had gotten, and he shared with me that he was battling bone cancer. He was skinny, and his suit just hung off his shoulders. My father was still a handsome man, and I knew those piercing blue eyes could see right through me. Anxiety, fear? I remembered all the encouragement and support that I had gotten before this lunch. I had gotten clear advice, to be Honest, Open, and Willing (one of those crucial acronyms, HOW to behave). I hoped it would work.

  He gave me a kiss on the cheek and sat across from me facing the bar. I always try to sit facing the front door, and that day was no exception. That position gives me a good feeling of being able to escape, and I feel less claustrophobic in a restaurant. Strange? It is a seating preference that has stayed with me for an exceedingly long time. Just sitting in the right chair gives me more self-confidence and I needed all that I could get. It was time for a little self-talk. You are OK! This is going to work out. It’s OK! Peace began to settle in, and I started to feel very connected to this man—my father. How could I ever doubt the truth? We were two kindred spirits, a father and a daughter, discovering each other after thirty-five years. A movie? A dream? No, this was the reality. As he spoke, I began to understand why there was acceptance—there was no judgment. His grandfather, his father, and his brother, Dick, were all alcoholics. Dick was in a twelve-step program, and the Admiral quit drinking in his twenties because he knew he had the potential to be an alcoholic. Yes, he did understand this part of me.

  I really wanted to remember the moment—I wrote a list of messages and reflections immediately following our lunch, so I would never forget. Perception is very personal, and that is what I thought my father was trying to share with me during our one-on-one conversation.

  The Messages

  Self-pity = “self-defeating, useless”

  Self-awareness = “Discover what the problem is, and you are halfway there.”

  “Don’t look back!” “Don’t play what-ifs?”

  Defective = “We are all defective in some way.”

  Learn = “You should never stop. Keep options—all doors open.”

  I paraphrased the words of wisdom that my father was passing on to his daughter:

  “Being illegitimate was not your mistake, it was mine, and mistakes are a part of living. Experiences are mistakes!”

  “Each of us has to be responsible for our own lives—you can’t blame someone else.”

  The Admiral shared once again how when he was sixteen and enlisted (by lying about his age), he begged his father to get him out of the Navy and his father said NO.

  “Achievements don’t measure happiness. My pride was in the success of my children, and you are one of those—my child.”

  My Reflective Feelings

  The pieces are not shattered. The picture is clearer. The puzzle is beginning to take shape and all the pieces fit. I am OK!

  I love this man. I am a part of his life and he is a part of mine. We have touched each other just like a butterfly. I felt him land ever so softly on my life, rest for a moment, and gently, but swiftly take flight again.

  Pride—what a gift to have this man as my father? He is human but so special. His tragedies have taught him well. Living with any pain is possible for the privilege of living.

  “Perseverance—press on.” I really heard that the survival instinct is extraordinarily strong.

  Touch—I wanted to hold him, to love him. I caressed his cheek as we were leaving and was not afraid.

  The prayer from St. Francis was emerging from somewhere, “It is better to love than to be loved.” What a gift to have both. His eyes told his story—a life of experiences (some mistakes), seventy-seven years of learning, of process, not perfection.

  It upset me, and I was hurt to discover that his wife did not know about me. I was still a secret, not a part, a whole part of his life. I was a “missing piece,” and that was OK to be a missing piece all by myself. I wanted more of him, but I was grateful if that was all I got. It was more than I ever imagined. The promises that we read in an AA meeting were coming true.

  He made me feel like going forward, like living life to the fullest, giving to others all that I had got and not being afraid to look at the past or shut the door on it. The p
ast was full of my mistakes, but they were my experiences that made the meeting with my biological father, on that day, possible.

  Can I accept life on life’s terms? He was dying—there might not be any more todays. I did have a daily reprieve, and any gift is precious. That day was the first day of the rest of my life. Receiving an award of a father was something I never expected, and recovery was giving that to me. Sobriety was giving me a father.

  Thank you, God. Thank you to all the twelve-step programs. Thank you for my sponsor, Linda. This day could not have been done alone. I do not have to “do life” with a boulder on my back, to meet life and all the realities by myself. My twelve-step program taught me that and gave me people whom God chose to put in my life when I needed them most. That was a gift! These were the thoughts and introspections that followed that significant luncheon in Washington, D.C.

  ***

  We made plans to meet in Florida the following month so he could meet my oldest son who was then at the University of Florida in Gainesville. The Admiral was headed south to stay in his winter home on the west coast of Florida. I could not wait to call George and plan this rendezvous with a new miracle in my life.

  May 26, 1986

  “Dear Janet… Just a note to tell you that it was fun to see you and to know all you have done to help yourself. No one else can do it for you and as we said one must live with their decisions…. Today was Memorial Day, and I gave a speech…. Enclosed is something that was written years ago that I unearthed from my files for the talk.

  On Christmas day in 1943, I lost one of my crew on the take off for faraway Turk Island and Sector 1. Following are my feelings that far-off day of long ago.

  Ask the Winds

  We have gone forth like winds: on Lost Bataan,

  Deep in New Guinea’s jungles, thunder high

  Above Australian reefs we rode the dawn

  Blanching across the long Pacific sky.

  Search for our bones on steaming Burmese coasts

  Or seek our smoke plumes on Tibetan snow

  Or trace the pattern of our shivering ghosts

  Along Attu when Arctic winters blow.

  Hearken above North Atlantic’s roars

  For motors bringing home to friendly lands,

  And when you reach the Mediterranean shores

  Filter the waves and sift the desert sands.

  Kindred who seek us thru the world’s wide ends,

  Ask of the rain and thunder, ask the winds.

  Dawn and the Sunset

  Surely they loved the world no less than we

  Theirs was the dawn; theirs the sunset, too.

  For them, the earth poured out its sweets, the sea

  Caught, as for us, the heavens very blue.

  They had heard music, known the soft caress

  Of woman’s (sp) gentle presence. In their eyes

  Had carried hopes of home and happiness

  And long remembrance. All this wonder dies.

  The hills of home, the well-loved fruitful plain

  Will vainly wait. They will not come again—

  The rain at dusk has cooled the torrid air,

  And from blazing stars washed out the dust.

  While on some stranged (sp), scorched speck of land, and bare,

  A twist of metal settles into rust.

  …. I will write more when I get up North. Take care of yourself and hang in there. It is a life-and-death matter. Yours, Matt”

  Finally, I had a connection with my father and was learning how to fly straight.

  ***

  September 6, 1986

  “Dear Admiral… I love my work and I still have a difficult time not being a perfectionist, not being overly competitive about a project, and not trying to bring all my creativity in overnight. The balance is what I am looking for with the career, the children, my relationships, and of the utmost importance—my AA program. It has been ten months since I have had a drink or drug, and the only way that works is one day at a time…. I still do not have any relationship with anyone in my family and that hurts. In fact, I feel closer to you right now than I do to Mother or my brothers and sister. AA has become my immediate family. I don’t know if that is good or bad but today I want to live and that is progress…. You are one of the few people in the world that I can talk to about my feelings and try to be me, even if it is only in letters…. I have been spending a great deal of time analyzing why I am alive today. My record is extremely extraordinary in that several suicide attempts failed that should have succeeded. That is by the grace of God because I did everything in my power to make them successful. Now, I see that they were successful because they failed. Last week, a friend who was back drinking heavily shot himself and was buried. I have lost quite a few friends to drugs, jail, or they just disappear. After I ask the question why I survived, I immediately ask for what purpose? I know that these are questions men much greater than me have asked for centuries, but like most questions, I am one of those people who have to find the answers themselves. Just that fact has almost killed me, but “thee of little faith” is me. And that will not change overnight. In any case, the only answer that keeps coming back is so simple it hurts. I am here to give love and service to whoever I can and live each day the best that I can…. I do not understand the idea of you have to have something, to give it away…. I do not know if I have anything to give. I seem to love too much, to feel too intensely, to take life too seriously, to sense to extremes, and to seek more than most. These are things that I am afraid to admit to anyone, but they are me. Please be honest and just give me some feedback. Most days I do live each day like it were my last and it makes each day very long, very intense, very important. At the end of the day, I am exhausted…. Love, Janet”

  September 20, 1986

  “My dear Janet… There is a great deal more to love than taking and I have learned over the years giving is better…. Each day I say, today is the first day of the rest of my life, and forget yesterday. You are right about planning and not trying to plan the outcome. Your Coast Guard friend seems like a nice person. I am sure with your background you have a great deal to give to many people in this world besides your children. Love, Matt”

  ***

  The letters became more sporadic. The Admiral was having cancer treatments, his wife was battling severe health issues, and my life was centered around recovery, my new relationship, the real estate career, and my children. I made several trips to Colorado to visit my kids and always returned home extremely depressed. They had a stepmother and seemed to be happy in their schools and in their lives. It would be years before I discovered the truth. Had I known what was happening in Colorado, I would have kidnapped my kids and run away where no one could find us. Does that sound dramatic? Looking back still hurts because I probably was not capable of being the mother that they deserved or taking any definitive action at that time. I was still struggling with my own sobriety and trying to remain stable to keep the relationships with my children intact.

  Miracles were taking place in all aspects of my life. The real estate office was thriving, and I was promoted to Vice President of the company. One of the fallouts from working in real estate is that you move a lot. Great deals pass your desk, and you are in a new house before the moving van arrives. Chris was a great sport. We sold his house and moved several times those first few years of sharing homes. One on the beach, one on the bay, and finally, we bought one on a golf course. The second year of my new sober life I discovered a new addiction, golf. A good friend, Joan, taught me everything she knew, and I progressed from wrapping a club around a tree to a decent game. I was surprisingly good at golf, and that probably had something to do with my genes and my marriage to the game. Chris did not play (his one and only match in Bermuda cinched that), and I continued to lower my handicap and excel. Life is good!

 
March 10, 1989

  “My dear Janet…. I have sort of neglected you this last year, but then I didn’t want to burden you with any of my problems for you have had enough for anyone…. I can’t be at your ceremony as much as I would like to for it comes at a time that I can’t get out of the clinic or leave my wife, who also is a patient with them. I wish you the best of all things in the years to come. You certainly deserve it for you have fought a very courageous battle, and from the invitation it appears that you have won it…. Chris is a lucky guy and I look forward to meeting him. You know my best wishes and prayers go with you in your new life. Love, Matt”

  ***

  March 25, 1989, we married in a small ceremony in the same church where we met. All the children were in the wedding, and the reception was back at our new home overlooking the third fairway. My baby sister, Lynn, was my maid of honor, and Chris’s sponsor was his best man. No, my father did not give me away.

  There was still a code of silence among his family members, and no one in the Admiral’s family knew that I existed. Those were the conditions of our relationship. I was used to family secrets, which made this arrangement acceptable at the time.

  We did meet in Florida with George, and I was so proud to introduce the Admiral to his grandson. Our correspondence during this time was all about new things, called feelings. Billy Joel wrote a song that year called “You’re Only Human,” and he told us that it is alright to make mistakes because we are only human. I wrote to the Admiral that even though I could not always identify which feelings I was having; it was great to have genuine emotion.

  There were two more wonderful father and daughter meetings before the roof crashed down.

  ***

  There is a saying in recovery circles that says something like this: “If things are going good, just wait, this too shall pass.” Six months after we were married, I was taking courses at the local college to get my undergraduate degree, and I noticed that I was exhausted during the night classes. I also felt like I had the flu most of the time. With reluctance, I finally went to the family doctor. That would lead to a host of specialists with no answers and a steady decline in my health. Even my hair hurt, and it was difficult to get out of bed. Chris would try to touch me or kiss me, and it would be painful. I took a leave of absence from work, isolated from my sponsor and friends, experienced an overwhelming depression, and waited to die. I had one friend, our yellow Labrador, Alex. He stayed with me always, sat on the end of the bed, and did not like to leave my side. He had a way of curling up beside me and molding his warm furry body to mine without hurting me. It reminded me of my childhood fort in the dunes with Duke, my German Shepherd, protecting me and staying with me no matter what. Alex was our first Labrador Retriever of many to come.