It was many years later when I first heard NPR’s Miki Meek’s story (2016) Really  Long Distance  on a solo car ride to somewhere. She introduced a man, Itaru Sasaki, who erected an old unconnected phonebooth in his garden to help him cope with the loss of his cousin. Sasaki-san named it “Kaze no Denwa,” the wind phone, “Phone of the Wind” so that his grief may travel from the receiver of the unconnected rotary phone to wherever they needed to go to reach his cousin. 

Word  spread and since then, thousands upon thousands of visitors continue to visit the phone booth and speak into the receiver in hopes that their well-wishes, their life updates, their devotion, will find their lost loved ones past where they themselves are able to go. There are recordings and (with permission) translated messages of brothers, sisters, husbands, and wives. 

This story resonated quite deeply. I’ve had many losses and as a previous therapist, I’ve helped clients process grief and loss. If I was alone in a phone booth with just all i carried and a patient receiver, I wondered if I could be so brave.  I thought of who I would speak to. I thought of what I would say. I thought of how we find a way to reconnect in spirit to those who we no longer have in front of us. How important that is.  For me, there is a peaceful space that is created within each soft click of the dial rotation.  The mindful intention to select the number and pull the dial to then let it tick tick tick tick all the way back into place. My family bought me the Lego London Phonebook set one Christmas. My youngest begged to be the one to put it together. And I helped. But only a little.