No New Year’s Day
to celebrate
No chocolate covered candy hearts to give away
No first of spring,
No song to sing
In fact here’s just another ordinary day
I have a very good friend who is a reflection of one of the delightful accidents of my life: how many “very good friends” have we as the result of caprice? I met her when we were both “older” students at Indiana University Southeast; she introduced me to her friend, and the three of us have stayed together through many of life’s storms. When I was in trouble, they came to my aid, and I did the same for them. These things we do for each other, for that is the quality of our friendship. My friend called me one night, and said this: “I love you. That’s all: I love you.” She said no more and I asked no more of her, for she had given me a “Stevie Wonder Call.”
We are in an age where instant communication is possible and preferable to the laborious task of writing. We don’t even write checks anymore: we pay our bills online. Though I do not agree that the collapse of civilization can be traced directly to society’s failure to teach cursive writing in school, I do know that the written note has become rare, and the person-to-person phone call is dying. But I still do both, and when the spirit moves me, I will make what I have termed a “Stevie Wonder call.”
No April rain,
No flowers bloom
No wedding Saturday
within the month of June
But what it is,
is something true
Made up of these three words that I must say to you
When we are away from the people we care about, we have to trust that we have fueled them adequately, that we have poured enough love into their emotional tank to power them back to us. The exploration of the world is a pleasure too great to keep us bound together in one place; our timorous steps from the nest of care turn into delightful leaps and then, eager investigation. But when our loved ones are away, we are denied those wordless communications that we rely on to convey our feelings. We cannot turn and place our hand on them, rub a neck or shoulder, touch a cheek or hair. When we call them — for we will call more often than we will write — we try to fill the gap with a galloping conversation.
Years ago, I shed my silence and made a commitment to overt expression. When I love you, I tell you. If you are not near, I will call. I called my grandchildren the other night, and when their father answered, I told him, “This is your Stevie Wonder call.” He wanted to know what birthday he had missed, and I told him that he had the wrong song.
I just called to say
I love you…
There is another song that resonates with me; the lyrics ask, “If tomorrow never comes, will she know how much I love her?” For my family and my friends, I would like that answer to be “yes.” That is what drives me to pick up the phone and make the calls that say:
I just called to say I love you
And I mean it from the bottom of my heart