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Meadowlark Hospice

Dawn's Notes

Dawn's Notes

Other Worlds To Sing In - November 2021
by Dawn Phelps, RN/LMSW

Many years ago, only old-fashioned wall telephones existed.  They had a receiver that was held to the ear and a mouthpiece to speak into.  Instead of phone books, someone on the telephone line responded to “Information Please” requests and looked up phone numbers for the inquirers.  The following story about an “Information Please” operator and a young boy has been around for a while (author unknown).

When I was a young boy, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood.  I remember the polished, old phone fastened to the wall.  The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box.  I was too little to reach the telephone, but I used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it. Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person.  Her name was “Information Please,” and there was nothing she did not know.  Information Please could supply anyone’s number and the correct time.

My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor.  Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give me sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger.  Finally arriving at the stairway—the telephone!  Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing.  Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. 

“Information Please,” I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. 
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.  “Information.”
“I hurt my finger,” I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
“Isn’t you mother home?” came the question.
“Nobody’s home but me,” I blubbered.
“Are you bleeding?” the voice asked.
“No,” I replied.  “I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts.”
“Can you open the icebox?” she asked, and I said I could.

Then there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called “Information Please” and told her the sad story. She listened and then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child.  But I was not consoled. I asked her, “Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all only to end up a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?”

She must have sensed my deep concern, so she said quietly, “Wayne, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in.” Somehow I felt better. 

Another day I was on the telephone to Information Please, and I asked “How do I spell fix?”... When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston, and I missed my Information Please friend very much, but the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me….  Some years later, I returned to Seattle which was near where I had grown up.  I had about a half-hour between planes, so I dialed my hometown operator and said, “Information Please.”  Miraculously I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well. I hadn’t planned this, but I heard myself saying, “Could you please tell me how to spell fix?” 

There was a long pause. Then there was a soft answer, “I guess your finger must have healed by now.” I laughed, “So it’s really you,” I said.  “I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time. “I wonder,” she said, “if you know how much your calls meant to me.  I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls.” I told her how often I thought of her through the years and asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.  “Please do,” she said.  “Just ask for Sally.” 

Three months later I was back in the area.  A different voice answered, “Information.” I asked for Sally.  “Are you a friend?” she asked. “Yes, a very old friend,” I answered.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” she said.  “Sally had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick.  She died five weeks ago. Before I could hang up, she said, “Wait a minute.  Did you say your name was Wayne?”

“Yes,” I answered. “Well, Sally left a message for you.  She wrote it down in case you called.  Let me read it to you.  The note says, “Tell him there are other worlds to sing in.  He’ll know what I mean.”

I thanked her and hung up.  I knew what Sally meant.  Never underestimate the impression you can make on others during your time on this earth. 

If you are grieving, you may need a friend to listen or help you—it is all right to pick up the phone and ask for help.  By connecting with others, we make friends and memories that will last a lifetime, even after our friends are gone. 

Life here is temporary.  But like Sally said, someday there will be “other worlds to sing in.”

Call about the next "Living Life after Loss" Group at:
Meadowlark Hospice
709 Liberty, Clay Center, Kansas
(785) 632-2225
Dawn Phelps, RN/LMSW, Group Facilitator