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GINA
GALLO |
Songs to Aging Children Third of Three |
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 "It was a fairy-tale beginning for this gilded couple, the tall handsome American and his beautiful bride." |
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This is the third and final column in Gina Gallo's "Songs to Aging Children" series. Here is how she describes the series: "Somewhere along the way, I learned that age is just a number tallied only in the final accounting of what we've done and how we did it. And while our exterior appearances may age, youth remains eternal--in the dreams that ignite our hearts, and the knowledge that there is a love beyond reckoning watching over us all." |
How do you prepare to lose
the most cherished love?
of TheColumnists.com
Ican hear it in his voice. That sadness again, like
a dark specter that haunts his soul.
The careful, measured tone he uses, meant to hold those emotions
in check, only underscores his sorrow. My friend always sounds
like this when he speaks of her. She’s the first woman he
ever loved. Forty-five years later, she's still the one who owns
his heart. Hers is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love that’s
nourished and sustained him, kept him wrapped in the warmth of
memories and shared dreams even when she’s not around.
Her name is Lillian. She was married when they met, he tells
me, but still it was love at first sight. At a diminuitive 5
feet 3 inches, Lillian was a head turner with sleek black hair,
brown eyes and a heart-melting smile. His voice warms as he recalls
those early years. How sensitive she was, how intelligent and
vivacious--the perfect combination of heart, brains and beauty.
A poet’s soul and an adventurer’s heart, neatly packaged
in a bombshell body.
As a court reporter, Lillian traveled to Japan to work on the
war crimes trials
following World War II. That was where she met fellow reporter
Arthur Sutton, who was dazzled by her intelligence, drawn to
her warmth and determined to make her his bride. After obtaining
General MacArthur’s permission to wed, they were married
at the base of Mount Fuji.
It was a fairy-tale beginning for this gilded couple, the tall
handsome American and his beautiful bride. From the beginning
they each were the vital component that completed the other.
They shared the same interest and passion for poetry, literature
and music. But it was on the dance floor that their style and
grace were truly showcased. Both were flawless dancers, both
avid fans of the big band music of the forties--songs that provided
the soundtrack for the events of their lives. They stomped and
whirled through feel-good tunes like “Swing, Swing, Swing”
and “Cherokee,” and swung along with “Take the
‘A’ Train.” And if anyone asked, Arthur would
swear “Sophisticated Lady” had been written expressly
for Lillian. But it was songs like “Prelude to a Kiss”
and “Mood Indigo” that had them melting together, moving
fluidly as one. Those early years were glorious times for the
golden couple. But nine years later, everything changed.
My friend came into Lillian’s life in 1956. From the beginning,
they adored each other. She found him captivating, he thought
her the perfect woman. And as with most great loves, they helped
each other grow. She wrote him poetry, he learned and sang her
favorite songs. Crooned “Satin Doll” just to tempt
her glorious smile, hummed “Let’s Dance” while
she made him breakfast. And while it was clear that she remained
a devoted wife, she showered him with love. Early on, he knew
there never would be a woman to rival Lillian.
They discussed politics and books. Had great conversations and
even greater silences. It was during those moments that he’d
inhale the fragrance of her, stroke her velvety skin and feel
complete. She was everything to him. In her presence, he could
give voice to his dreams, envision them as eventual reality.
With Lillian anything seemed possible. She taught him about ways
and worlds he’d never known before. Her strength became
his foundation and her spirit, his guiding star.
Lillian loved him enough to give him wings, encouraging him to
fly toward his dreams. And when those dreams took him to other
places, other states, she didn’t waver. Regardless of geography,
he remains her cherished love.
These days, less frequent visits mean more frequent phone calls.
He surprises her with long-distance serenades like a teasing
rendition of “The Lady is a Tramp.” She reports on
all her activities, her interests, the things that touch her.
But even phone marathons are no substitute for the real thing.
He’s never stopped missing her, knows he’ll never stop
wanting her. And makes sure that the weeks don’t stretch
into too many months before he flies back to her, across the
country and into her arms, the only place he feels is home.
Lately, though, even those visits are framed in sadness. Lillian’s
health is failing, he tells me. Age and time have taken their
toll, and with each visit, she seems to grow more frail. Now
he stares into eyes that once teased and sparkled and sees only
the fear of a woman nearing the end of her song. But her incredible
spirit hasn’t changed, is only held captive in its aging
shell. That’s the hardest part, he says, knowing that her
heart is holding vigil for her failing body.
He doesn’t know how to let her go. For 45 years, Lillian
has been his life, his heart, his compass in the darkest storm.
Now he wonders if each kiss on her parchment cheek will be the
last, if her fragile body can sustain his embrace. There are
a hundred things he wants to tell her, thoughts and dreams and
words that somehow might keep her with him for just a bit longer.
But no words are necessary to remember the past, and there are
none that can prevent the future. So instead, he sings her a
song: “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore.” It has
always been one of her big-band favorites.
A fitting choice, he thinks, for this beautiful, vibrant, precious
woman, his cherished love. The one her husband called ‘Dearie,”
her friends call ‘Lillian,’ and that he calls, simply,
‘Mom.’
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This column is dedicated to Lillian and Randy Lee Sutton, and to the precious bond between mothers and sons. |
© 2002 by Gina Gallo. The Gina Gallo caricature is © 2001 by Jim Hummel. The other illustration is from IMSI's Master Clips Collection, 1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael, CA, 94901-5506, USA.
'Songs to Aging Children,' click below:
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of God |
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