Stevie Wonder, at 75, is more than an artist; he is an immortal architect of soul, a living miracle forged out of darkness. The genius behind anthems like “Isn’t She Lovely” and “Superstition” turned his eternal night into a sound of hope that transcended wars and eras, teaching the world how to see beauty through the soul, not the eyes. For more than six decades, his music has been the heartbeat of love and freedom. Yet, the cost of his brilliance has been mercilessly high: a life condemned to blindness, three shattered marriages, profound loss, and a body that only recently survived a quiet, life-threatening storm.

His journey is a profound testament to survival, beginning not in the glow of a spotlight, but in the shadows of fate’s cruel irony.

The Blind Child Who Heard Divinity

Born Steveland Hardaway Judkins on May 13, 1950, in Saginaw, Michigan, the world he entered was immediately taken from him. Born six weeks premature, doctors fought for his tiny life by flooding his incubator with oxygen. The procedure saved his breath but scarred his retinas, leaving him blind before he ever saw his mother’s face.

His childhood was marked by poverty in Detroit. After his father walked away, his mother, Lula May Hardaway, worked ceaselessly scrubbing strangers’ floors, raising six children alone with a quiet, fierce faith. In their cramped apartment, young Stevie listened to the rhythm of the city, memorizing its pulse, its pain, and its promise. Lula’s faith became his compass, and in a small Baptist church, his tiny fingers explored the organ keys. He learned the piano, drums, and harmonica, all by ear, transforming the world’s vibrations into melody. He later recalled, “I may not have seen with my eyes, but I’ve always seen with my heart.”

At just 11 years old, he was discovered by Ronnie White of The Miracles and brought to Berry Gordy at Motown. Gordy, hearing his talent, whispered, “That’s a wonder,” and thus, Little Stevie Wonder was born. By age 13, his live performance of “Fingertips Part 2” erupted into pure electricity, making him the youngest solo artist ever to reach number one on the Billboard Hot 100.

The Crash and the Classic Era

Fame, however, can flicker. As he grew, his voice changed, and doubt began to spread in the Motown hallways. But the fire refused to die. A songwriter, Sylvia Moy, urged him to “Play what’s left in you, not what’s gone,” leading to his rebirth with the hit “Uptight (Everything’s All Right)”.

In 1971, at just 21, Stevie made a defiant choice: he left Motown, seeking freedom and creative control. In a small rented studio, he began his legendary “Classic Era” (1972-1976), creating masterpieces like Talking Book, Innervisions, and Songs in the Key of Life. He often worked 20 hours a day, playing almost every instrument himself, pursuing a sound that cost him millions and left him exhausted.

Then, in August 1973, fate struck with merciless precision. A steel beam broke loose from a truck on a Carolina highway and crashed through his windshield. The blow threw him into a coma for four endless days. When he finally stirred, his first whisper was, “Will I ever hear music again?” He did, but the music that returned was different, heavier, echoing with the crash that almost ended him. He poured that pain into his work, leading to his peak in 1976, when Songs in the Key of Life solidified his legend, earning him his third consecutive Album of the Year Grammy.

The Rhythm of Love and Loss

The man who gave the world so much joy found his own peace only in the quiet sanctuary of love, though that, too, proved fragile.

Syreeta Wright (First Wife): They married in 1970, a simple, tender union of two young artists. Their bond inspired songs like “Signed, Sealed, Delivered I’m Yours,” but as Stevie’s fame soared, the distance grew heavier than any argument. They parted gently in 1972, remaining friends until her death from cancer in 2004.
Yolanda Simmons: In 1975, Yolanda gave birth to his daughter, Aisha Morris, whose laughter inspired the timeless hymn “Isn’t She Lovely.” They also had a son, Keita Morris. Though they parted, motherhood, he said, taught him what love sounded like.
Melody McCully: She gave birth to his son, Mumaz Morris, in 1983. This was a gentler, quieter kind of love that brought him peace and grounding during a turbulent time.
Angela McGaffy: Their 13-year companionship (c. 1986–1999) was built on care. Angela was his calm, organizing his life and ensuring he rested. The pressure of loving a man claimed by the world turned gratitude into gravity, and their relationship ended in quiet exhaustion, followed by a lawsuit in 1999 that he met with silence and grace.
Kai Millard (Third Wife): They married in 2001, welcoming sons Kailand and Mandla. Their home was a sanctuary, but the demands of his career strained their bond. They divorced quietly in 2015, with Stevie agreeing to pay $25,000 a month in child support as an act of protection, ensuring his children never felt the instability that haunted his own youth.
Tomeeka Robyn Bracy (Fourth Wife): She entered his life in 2012, bringing the peace he no longer searched for. They married in 2017 and have two young children. Tomeeka cares for the man, not the musician, providing the quiet, steady rhythm of home.

The Final Challenge and the Wisdom of Gratitude

Even in the sanctuary he built, grief would still find him. The 2006 passing of his mother, Lula May Hardaway—the first sound he ever loved—silenced his piano for weeks. When he finally played, it was a single song, “Ribbon in the Sky,” played for her.

The most profound challenge came later. By his late 60s, years of relentless touring and fame had taken a toll, culminating in the diagnosis of failing kidneys. In 2019, he publicly announced he would be receiving a transplant, approaching it not with fear, but with faith. Tomeeka stayed by his side through the long nights before and after the surgery. When he finally woke, he whispered, “Am I still here?”

Today, at 75, with a net worth estimated at $200 million, Stevie Wonder lives a life defined by simplicity, peace, and gratitude. He resides in a stunning Bel Air mansion, a sanctuary where his family’s laughter has replaced applause. He no longer chases perfection; he radiates authenticity.

His life is an ongoing hymn of endurance. “I endure,” he said, “because love did.” He reminds us that true vision doesn’t come from the eyes, but from the heart, and that in a world that glorifies noise, quiet can be the loudest kind of strength. The man who could not see continues to teach the world how to feel.