'The Goodbye Line' lets strangers listen to people's heartfelt goodbyes on public pay phones
"The void calls. We answer."
The Goodbye Line project
There are times when we want to say goodbye to a person, a concept, a city, an inner child, or even just an idea, but, for whatever reason, that opportunity has passed. Maybe the recipient is unavailable and what's left is a void that leaves our well-wishes with no real place to land.
Documentary filmmaker Adam Trunell and his partner Alexis Wood wanted to help fill that void by not only giving a creative outlet to help people bid adieu, but to create a sense of community by sharing it with people online. We all experience loss, heartbreak, grief—and this seemed like a way to strip down to our most vulnerable memories, perhaps the ones that got snagged somewhere, in order to process them so that we can let them go.
One of the reels on The Goodbye Line TikTok page (@thegoodbyeline) simply states: "The void calls. We answer." And that's exactly how it works. From any payphone (or cell phone, if one wishes), a person can call a toll-free number. A recording answers to welcome them to "The Goodbye Line," explaining, "This payphone, like us, is here now but won't be forever." From there, one is encouraged to leave a goodbye, fleeting thought, or poem—whatever they need to get off their hearts. If they want to opt out of having their stories shared on social media, they just have to say so in the call.
@thegoodbyeline The void calls. We answer.
Upworthy spoke with Adam and Alexis about how this unique art/social project sparked. Adam shares, "It came out of a rainy day conversation about loss and community, and we sort of walked backwards into an idea. We designed a sticker, put it up on some of the remaining payphones around LA, and couldn’t say whether we’d get a single call. They come in now all day, every day, and run the full spectrum of goodbyes. There’s no single type of goodbye, but every message is an attempt to pin something down before it disappears completely. And a reminder that loss, in all its forms, connects us."
The line doesn't speak back, he tells us. "The line just listens. It doesn’t judge, doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t try to make things OK. It just takes what you give it, without question, and holds it. And sometimes that’s enough.”
What's even more impactful is the community of people who listen to these goodbyes. "The fact people show up and listen, and follow, and comment and share, tells us that grief isn’t just about loss. It’s about connection. And mourning isn’t just something we do in private — it’s also deeply communal. So that even if we aren’t the ones speaking, we can hear ourselves in other people's messages.”
Alexis adds that because there are so many different versions of "loss," the calls range in tone. "A lot of the calls are about losing someone who’s passed, but there are just as many about losing relationships or friendships with people who are still alive. And honestly, I don’t think we talk about that kind of loss enough.”
She explains how the payphones themselves have become a character in the art piece. "There’s something raw and immediate about stumbling on a payphone out in the world—it catches people off guard, and that moment feels different than someone who finds us through Instagram and comes in with a bit more context. What’s even more fascinating is how each payphone seems to absorb the energy of its neighborhood. They take on their own personalities—what gets said, who picks up the phone—it all shifts depending on where they are. The calls start to reflect the place, and that’s been one of the most powerful parts of this whole thing.”
The Goodbye Line Payphone project Photo credited to Adam Trunell
Adam acknowledges how complex letting go can be. "There are some things we never get to say, and that doesn’t just disappear. Loss doesn’t have an expiration date. Some goodbyes take years to find a voice. And when they do, for a moment, even saying a name can restore a presence. You hear it in the messages; sometimes people pick up the phone and don’t know what they’re holding onto until they say it out loud.”