“Hope” is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all
– Emily Dickinson
A while ago I heard a story on the podcast This American Life called, “The Phone of the Wind.” The story was about a phone booth on a hilltop overlooking the city of Otsuchi, Japan, a coastal town hit hard with a tsunami after the 2011 earthquake.
One year before the disaster, Itaru Sasaki, installed the phone booth from England in his garden. He used the disconnected rotary phone to speak to his cousin who’d died. He asked him how he was and told him stories about his life. “Because my thoughts couldn’t be relayed over a regular phone line,” he said, “I wanted them to be carried on the wind.”
After the disaster word got out about the “Wind Phone” and people started showing up in Itaru’s garden to make calls to their loved ones. People from all over Japan came on pilgrimage to visit once, others were regular visitors.
I wanted to find out more and found a documentary on Youtube (50 minutes – search for Phone of the Wind). As the camera zooms in on the white glassed paneled phone booth you hear these words in Japanese, “Hello, if you’re out there, listen to me.”
With their permission some of the callers were recorded. They said how much they loved the person and missed them. Most reassured their lost loved ones they were doing ok, that they shouldn’t worry. Where are you? they wanted to know. “I want to hear your voice. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.” A boy in second grade told his lost grandfather he finished his homework. When he hung up he said, “I think he heard us.” Some people picked up the phone and could only cry.
A disconnected phone that connected people to those they lost. A phone booth that offered the hope of being heard. A safe place to let sorrow out, with voices and love carried by the wind.
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This video has just over 50k views. This is a story that needs to be told, listened to and shared. If there’s one thing I’ve learned through my own losses and pain is we all want to know we’re not alone, we want to know we matter – or mattered. And we want to be heard.
I’m listening…
