My friend’s voice on the call I answered was full of song: “I love, you, I love you, I love you…!” I laughed to hear it; it was a song from an artist I had introduced to her musical preferences long ago, one that we have loved and shared over the years. When she was going through some painful emotional moments, I compiled a list of music, recorded it and sent it to her. My hope was that the music would bring her joy, and alleviate some of her pain. Through all the years since then, the artist’s song has served as a way for us to say, “I love you.”
I have written of my emotional connection and affection — love — for two women with whom I have had a friendship for decades. I have attended most of their marriage ceremonies and they have ridden to my rescue, to dissuade me from a life-damaging decision. I have sat at the bedside of one dying husband, and held the other friend when her husband moved away from her. We three love each other, and those who know us accept that, or we ask that they move on. This is the way that we feel about each other, and while there is no room between us, anyone can come beside us.
The call from one friend was appended to with a call from the other. This conversation was shorter and crisper, though no less loving, as this friend is a multi-tasker, and making a phone call is usually one of three things that she will be doing at the same time. She gave me updates on her two daughters (both of whom call me “Uncle CJ”) and her dog, the Maltese that I used to care for when she and her husband vacationed. Her call was the completion of a circle of care, the closing of the circuit of a relationship humming with a happy electricity. Those phone calls to me followed mine to them, and though I got voice mail on both lines, I made sure that they knew that I loved them.
A visiting nurse, while conducting my yearly wellness check (a service brought to me by my insurance plan) commented on my good health, and asked if I could recommend a plan to others. I listed what I thought were the important activities for an (ahem) older fellow like me, who lived alone. But chief among them was to always seek out the company of others, to exchange thoughts and plans and feelings and beliefs: to stay engaged. But now we’re in the midst of a pandemic, with the coronavirus COVID-19 having stilled the lives of more than 85,000 Americans, with (at this writing) almost 1,500 Hoosiers included in that toll; physical contact is unhealthy, for the most part, so we must make those calls.
Indiana is gradually reopening its businesses, with some debate about the best way to do so. Some small businesses may have died from the virus; others are on life support. Though we must stay away from our normal gathering places, we can still maintain contact with each other. We can Facetime, Skype and Zoom; have Microsoft Meetings and Messenger video chats. And sing along with Michael Franti and Spearhead: “I say hey, I’ll be gone today/But I’ll be back all around the way/It seems like everywhere I go/The more I see, the less I know/But I know one thing/That I love you/I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Make the call.
cjon3acd@att.net