Letting the wind carry my words

A few months ago, I was running errands and I saw something that made me laugh. I thought my husband would find this funny, and I’d have to tell him about it later. Then I remembered…. My husband had been dead for a year and a half.

A recent late-night Google search led me to discover wind phones. Wind phones are disconnected (often rotary) phones that are set up in a quiet, outdoor space, to allow users to have a one-way conversation with a loved one who has died.

Hundreds of wind phones have been set up across the country, often established inhonor of someone who has died. A directory of wind phones can be found at mywindphone.com.

According to mywindphone.com, the original wind phone was set up by Itaru Sasaki in 2011, after a devastating tsunami in Japan. Sasaki set up a phone booth on a windy hill overlooking the Pacific Ocean and welcomed others to “call” loved ones lost in the natural disaster. “Speaking into the disconnected phone allowed visitors to share the words left in their hearts, trusting the wind to carry their messages,” according to the website.

I discovered that there was a wind phone at Wells Reserve at Laudholm. I thought, “Well, this is a good thing for some people, but I’m not sure it’s for me.” If I needed to talk to Brian, I could do it anywhere, anytime, I reasoned. There was also a part of me that thought it might take me a few steps backward in accepting that he was gone.

But still, I was intrigued. On one of the last days with enough snow on the ground, I decided to go snowshoeing at Wells Reserve at Laudholm.

I drove down to Wells Reserve, put on my gear, and trekked the short distance through the snow until I found the phone. It was in a blue wooden box on a stand, at the edge of the woods, next to a bench. Below the box was a sign that read:

This phone will never ring. It is a Wind Phone, connected to nowhere and everywhere at once. It is for all who grieve someone they love. It is to share memories, say I love you, I miss you, or the goodbye you never got to say. Pick up the phone and dial their number; let the wind take your words.

I timidly opened the door to the phone cabinet, picked up the receiver, and dialed Brian’s number for the first time in a year and a half. And then I started talking, saying things I didn’t know I needed to say. That I hoped he knew how special he was and how important he was to me, and that I was sorry if I ever did anything to make him think otherwise.

I told him about some of the things I’d done in the past year – the things he would have loved and the things he should be glad he missed. I told him some day, I’ll go to Acadia again, and I’ll think of the memories we made together and I’ll make new memories.

I told him though I missed him and though some days were still hard, I was doing okay.

I said goodbye, hung up the phone and trudged back toward the parking lot. As I put my snowshoes and poles in the trunk of my car, I thought, maybe I’ll come here again some day.

Liz Gotthelf is the publisher of Saco Bay News. Her husband died unexpectedly in August 2024 and she’s learning that there is no timeline for grief. She can be reached at newsdesk@sacobaynews.com.