A vintage black rotary phone is housed inside a hutch that looks like a Little Free Library. The curious structure is set back from the shoreline and playground equipment at Arlington's Bowman Springs Park.
Behind the small glass-front door is a memorial. The iridescent inside of an abalone shell glimmers next to an assortment of rocks and a piece of notebook paper with "I feel sore for you" written in a childlike scrawl.
It's called a wind phone. It is not connected to an active line or recording device, but people still pick up the receiver to say hello to family, friends and significant others who are no longer alive.
The concept originated in Japan.
Inspired by Itaru
In 2010, after his cousin died, a man named Itaru Sasaki set up an old English telephone booth in his garden overlooking the Pacific Ocean.
Sasaki told a Japanese news station that since his thoughts couldn't be relayed over a regular phone line, he wanted them to be carried by the wind.
When a tsunami ravaged the country in 2011, people flocked to the phone. Since then, the concept has been replicated nearly 500 times around the world, according to a map compiled by Amy Dawson, who lives in Pennsylvania.
"I think it's just such a normal thing," Dawson said. "We call our person, right? I think it's a very normal thing we do every day that it feels comfortable, and it feels like a way you can connect."
After Dawson's daughter Emily died from a prolonged illness in 2020, she started mywindphone.com to track the memorials.
"They [wind phones] just popped back in my brain because if anybody was using a phone up in heaven or up in the sky, it would be my daughter," Dawson said. "She loved her phone."
Dawson's thinking behind the project was that if it could help her, it would likely help others as well.
According to her most recent count, there are over 300 wind phones in the United States, including the one in Arlington.
'As a society we're kind of weird about death'
Karin Kliemann learned about wind phones from a segment on CBS Sunday Morning.
"I thought it was the very coolest thing ever," Kliemann said.
Kliemann, who was working through the loss of some close friends, contacted the city of Arlington about installing a wind phone in a public park. She got permission to move forward.
Kliemann's longtime friend, Julie Compton, was touched that her late son and husband were among those Kliemann sought to honor with the wind phone.
Compton's son died by suicide in 2010 and her husband died after a bout with lung disease in 2016.
Their names, Chantz and David Compton, are printed on a piece of paper tucked inside the phone booth. The brief memorial lists another of Kliemann's late friends as well as a bible verse and proverb.
"As a society, we're kind of weird about death, you know? And really weird about suicide," Compton said. "It's gotten better, but people don't want to speak of it."
Compton is looking to change that through her involvement with local groups the Jordan Elizabeth Harris Foundation, Healing After Suicide and Local Outreach to Suicide Survivors.
She hopes that the wind phone can serve as a springboard for conversations about death and mourning.
"I think people are afraid sometimes that they're going to upset you to mention that name," she continued, "but really it's much more upsetting when nobody mentions their name and doesn't remember them."
Processing grief
Talking into a disconnected phone may sound odd to some, but, for others, it can provide a meaningful release.
"It allows us to be able to still feel like we can share with them what's on our heart, or things that we want to say but didn't or couldn't say before," said Stephanie Clanton, a licensed professional counselor-supervisor and founder of White Rock Therapy in Dallas.
While it's not a replacement for therapy, mourners benefit from outward expression, whether that involves moving their bodies or using their voices, Clanton explained.
"Being able to grieve and not stifle it or just even able to communicate aspects of grief is crucial in processing loss," she continued.
Carried on the wind
Kliemann, who installed the wind phone in Arlington, noticed that how she uses it has changed over time.
"It was at first like, 'What on earth? Why did you do this?' And 'Where have you gone?' and 'Why aren't you here?' " she said. "And then it was, 'Here's what happened today.' And 'I so thought of you when I did this.' "
Compton finds comfort knowing that people are still saying her son's and husband's names. The analog memorial is a nice respite from the likes, comments and constant notifications of the digital world, she said. It helps keep their memories alive.
"You know the saying that people die twice? They die when they die, and then they die the last time somebody says their name," she said.
She hopes others find comfort as the wind carries messages to their loved ones, too.
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