Regret is a Powerful Motivator

I tried calling you tonight. It rang and rang and finally the answering machine picked up and I heard your cheerful voice say "Hello. I can't come to the phone right now but you can leave a message." And then I remembered, or thought I remembered, that you said you might be away for a day or two. Suddenly, I was a little frustrated. Mildly irritated. Disappointed. And sad. I want to talk to you now. Not a couple of days from now.

And then I had a morbid thought. A gloomy depressing thought: There will be a time when you're dead and gone, and I'll never be able to listen to your living voice again. There will come a time when I can't pick up the phone and expect you to be there. I won't be able to tell you of my latest escapade(s). I won't be able to hear how things are going for you. I'll miss that series of questions you always ask. That will be truly frustrating. Much more than frustrating! It will hurt and ache.

Just now I'm regretting all those times that I decided not to call you on a whim, with nothing in particular to say. With nothing new to report, I always thought to myself "I'll just wait until Thursday, my usual night to call. Wait until after 9 pm when it's free." Regret is a powerful motivator. I intend to call you more often, any night of the week, before 9 o'clock, with nothing to in particular to say. I just want to hear your voice, your precious voice, as much as I can before eternity separates you and me.

G.R. Davis, Jr.
5 January 2004