George Bush: Decision Points

Back home in Midland in July 1977, my old friend Joe O’Neill invited me over for a burger. I rarely turned down homemade meals. They sure beat the fast food that tended to be my staple. Joe and his wife, Jan, had someone they wanted me to meet: one of Jan’s best friends, Laura Welch. I arrived a little late. There in the backyard were Jan and Laura, who was wearing a blue sundress.

She was gorgeous. She had stunning blue eyes and moved so gracefully. She was intelligent and dignified, with a warm and easy laugh. If there is love at first sight, this was it.

Laura and I discovered that we had grown up near each other in Midland and both attended seventh grade at San Jacinto Junior High. We had even lived in the same apartment complex in Houston. She lived on the quiet side, where people sat by the pool and read books. I lived on the side where people played water volleyball till late at night. No wonder our paths had never crossed.

I called Laura the next day, and we agreed to meet again that night. I asked if she wanted to play putt-putt golf. I knew she was my kind of girl when she agreed. Her short game was a little shaky, but she was a lot of fun to be around. My favorable impressions from the previous evening were strengthened. There was only one bad part. Laura had to go back to Austin, where she was a school librarian at Dawson Elementary. I missed her immediately and started visiting her there as often as I could.

We were a perfect match. I’m a talker; Laura is a listener. I am restless; she is calm. I can get a little carried away; she is practical and down-to-earth. Above all, she is genuine and natural. There is no phoniness about her. Her appeal was immediate and constant. In August, I went to visit my family in Kennebunkport, planning to stay for a week. After one night, I flew back to Texas to be with Laura.

Laura and me.

A few weeks after we met, Laura introduced me to her parents, Harold and Jenna Welch. Her mom, a kind, sweet, and patient woman, always made me feel welcome. Her dad loved sports and enjoyed putting down a wager or two on football. His hangout was Johnny’s Barbecue. The locals called it the Sick Pig because of the awful wooden pig on top of the restaurant. One day Laura’s dad introduced me to his friends at the Sick Pig, including Johnny himself. I think I passed muster, because I was offered a screwdriver. I turned it down. It was nine o’clock in the morning.

The courtship moved fast. One weekend Laura and I took a trip to Anne and Tobin Armstrong’s ranch in South Texas. Anne was a former U.S. ambassador to Great Britain, and she and Tobin had invited Prince Charles to play polo. Another weekend we visited John and Angie Newcombe at his tennis academy in New Braunfels, in the beautiful Texas Hill Country. This time I kept my hands on the beer mug and off the steering wheel. I was falling hard for Laura. I was not much of a cat person, but I knew our relationship was solid when I bonded with her black-and-white shorthair, Dewey, named for the decimal system.

I’ve never been afraid to make a decision, and in late September I made a big one. One night in Laura’s small Austin rental house, I said, “Let’s get married.” She said yes right away. Ours had been a whirlwind romance, but we were ready to commit.

Soon after the engagement, Laura and I traveled to Houston, where Jeb and Columba were celebrating the christening of their daughter, Noelle. I introduced Laura to the family. They were as smitten with her as I had been. Laura knew she would be joining a large, competitive family, and that suited her just fine. As an only child, she got a kick out of the boisterous Bush clan.

Our parents checked their schedules, and we picked the first Saturday available, November 5, 1977. We had a small wedding with family and close friends in Midland. The invitations were handwritten by Laura’s mom. We had no ushers, no bridesmaids, and no groomsmen. It was just me, Laura, and her dad to walk her down the aisle.

On our wedding day.

While I couldn’t pinpoint it at the time, I believe there is a reason Laura and I never met all those years before. God brought her into my life at just the right time, when I was ready to settle down and was open to having a partner at my side. Thankfully, I had the good sense to recognize it. It was the best decision of my life.

Shortly after we got married, Laura and I decided to have children. After a couple of years of trying, it was not happening as easily as we had hoped. We discussed, reflected, prayed, and made the decision to adopt. At first I was uneasy about parenting someone else’s child. But the more I looked into adoption, the more comfortable I became. We had friends who had adopted and loved their children as a precious blessing. And we were fortunate to know about a wonderful agency called the Edna Gladney Home in Fort Worth.

Founded by a Methodist missionary in 1887, Gladney had become one of the premier adoption homes in the world. Laura and I were introduced by phone to the longtime director, Ruby Lee Piester. She invited us to tour the hospital, where we met some of the pregnant women who were near term. I was touched by their selfless decision to bring their children into the world and give them to couples like us.

The application process took several months. First, there was the initial interview, which included a lengthy questionnaire. Fortunately, we passed. In the next stage, Gladney planned to send a representative for a home visit. Laura and I were preparing meticulously. Then, in early 1981, she stunned me with the news that she thought she was pregnant.

Some weeks later we scheduled a trip to a sonogram expert in Houston, a lovely Indian American woman named Srini Malini. I was nervous as she guided the device over Laura’s body. She looked at the video monitor and said, “Here is the head, and here is the body. It’s a girl!” She moved to get a better angle. Suddenly she shouted, “I see two babies, two beautiful babies! This one is a girl as well. You are going to be the parents of twins.” My eyes filled with tears. It was a double blessing. I started calling the sonogram image our first family photo.

When we called the Gladney director to deliver the news, we felt strangely guilty, as if we had been leading her on. She told Laura something so sweet: “Honey, this happens sometimes. Gladney can help a couple have a child one way or another.” Ruby Lee was more right than she knew. On the original questionnaire, Laura had checked the box saying we would prefer to adopt twins.

The doctors had warned us that twins can be a high-risk pregnancy. Laura refused to decorate the nursery out of superstition. About seven months into the pregnancy, Laura was diagnosed with preeclampsia, a serious condition that could damage her kidneys and jeopardize the health of the girls. The day after we received this news, Laura checked into Baylor Hospital in Dallas, where her uncle was a surgeon. The doctors told Laura that she should begin bed rest.

I knew Laura had the best possible care, but I was worried. I remembered Mother’s miscarriage. I had seen my parents after Robin died. I knew how much it hurt to lose a child. I confessed my anxiety to Laura. I’ll never forget her reaction. She looked at me with her blue eyes and said, “George, I am going to bring these girls into the world. They will be born healthy.” I marveled at my wife’s strength. This quiet, unassuming woman was one tough soul.