The Wind Phone

Grief is a funny thing. It wants to come out and, like water, finds every little crack and crevice.  And we, strange creatures that we are, try to prevent it from coming out at "awkward" moments. At least I do. "Now is not a good time." "I need to be alone, when life has calmed down, when I have space and time to grieve."

Hah.

Grief will come out, no matter how much we may try to patch the cracks and crevices and redirect it into a more discreet pathway. It is, ultimately, a good thing, to let grief find expression, to give it free rein to say the things that we need to say. To cry the tears we never cried. To rage and roar against the stupidity of fate and death.

But it's still not an easy thing.

A few weeks ago, watching the news, I saw a little piece about phoning loved ones, from an old rotary phone mounted on a random telephone pole in Vancouver. Just pick up the receiver and dial their number, waiting for the dial to make its slow return to the starting position. Call them up to tell them that you love them. Or miss them. Or are thinking of them. Of course, the phone is not connected to anything. Rotary phones are now quaint, nostalgic items and, dare I say it, antiques. There is no one on the other end of the line, but that's not the point.

Sometimes, all we need to do is say what we need to say. Without any response. No interruptions. No fear of a reaction. No hurt feelings. Just say what needs to be said and then listen to the wind and the silence and know that you have been heard.

Kind of funky.

These types of phones have a name—wind phones. They started in Japan a decade or more ago, as a way for people to express their grief. We are all so good at bottling it up, containing it, hiding it. Don't let it show. Because after 3 months, shouldn't we be "over it"? After a year, or two, should we not have moved on from grieving? But grief is not a "One and Done" thing. Oh sure, there are the big ones like the death of a loved one, or the death of a beloved pet, or the loss of a job, or a serious health diagnosis. Sometimes those larger losses give all of the accumulated griefs a chance to find expression... the little day-to-day hurts that we keep letting go of, moving on from, pushing aside, or diminishing. We can feel them beneath the surface, searching for the crack that will give them expression.

I did a search for "wind phones" and there's a whole website that lists the location of these conduits, the nearest official one to me being on one of the Gulf Islands. But then... I saw a local news article and... we have our very own wind phone!! At the local cemetery, as part of an art installation.

I dithered for a day or so... and then early one morning, at 5 am, I drove to the cemetery. The wind phone is in a little carved wooden cubby that brings to mind waves and ripples. It's a wall-mounted rotary phone... and as I picked it up and dialed my Mom's old phone number, the tears welled up. And I cried and sobbed and told her how hard it's been, this past year. How I missed her. How I wished we could have talked more about the DNA surprise. I didn't have long, because the automated sprinklers came on and the tears were mingling with the water spray... but it was a relief.

To be able to "speak" to her... and though there was no response... I felt heard.

And I will go back... and time it for after the sprinklers...

Resources

Wind Phones website - https://www.mywindphone.com/