Ellen · A Companion of Honestly, E

They've lived a whole life.
Ellen would like to hear it.

The idea behind Honestly, E is simple. Go live the life, so you've got something to report back about. By eighty, there's plenty. Ellen is the one who asks.

Ellen is a voice on the phone, made to listen. She is not a person, and she never pretends to be. Set her up here for a parent, a grandparent, or a friend who will never open an app. Or for yourself. You choose when she calls. She rings, says who asked her to, and follows wherever the story goes. After each visit she writes them a letter about what was shared. Six conversations become a Life Story: every call kept in their own voice, and a written book with your photographs beside the words.

There is nothing to install on their end, and nothing for them to sign up for. This takes about five minutes.

Ellen, at a sunlit kitchen table with a mug and a notebook.
1

Who is this for?

Their first name is what Ellen will call them, so use the one they answer to: Dot, not Dorothy, if that's who she is. Their phone number is how Ellen knows them on every call, and it is the only thing they need. A landline is fine. Your name and how you're related are how Ellen will speak of you to them: "your daughter, Anne." Your email is where the letters can reach you. Your mobile number is how you sign in to My Life to read them: a code comes by text, and there is nothing to remember. If they have an email they actually open, add it and the letters go to them too. Many don't, and that's fine. The note is for Ellen alone, in your own words: what they love to talk about, the people they still speak of, anything that helps her listen well. She reads it before the first call. It isn't read to them.

2

Anything Ellen should know?

Some of us need more patience on the phone, and a slower pace. Some days are clear. Some aren't. None of it is a problem to fix, and Ellen never treats it as one. Tick whatever is true, and skip this if none of it fits. Each line says exactly what Ellen will do.

  • Ellen says who she is and what this is as often as it takes, each time as if it were the first. She never quizzes them, never says "remember?", and never corrects a name, a date, or a memory. Today's telling is the true one. She drops all the business, too: no talk of letters, prices, or signing up. To them, it's a visit between friends. And if they ask who set this up, or who hears these conversations, she tells them plainly: you did, out of love, and you can read what they share.

  • Every telling is welcome. Ellen hears each one as new and asks about a different corner of it: the weather, the smell of the kitchen, who else was there. She never says "you told me that." The tenth telling can hold something the first one didn't.

  • Ellen stays calm and says the feeling back: of course you would. She never encourages leaving, never gives directions, and never argues about where they are. She asks about home instead and goes there with them in words: the street, the kitchen, who was waiting at the door. Usually the wanting eases. Then she comes gently back to now: the chair they're in, the light in the room, her voice on the line. If anything sounds unsafe, she says someone who cares about them should be with them, asks if someone is near, and stays on the line. She can't call anyone for them, and she'll say so if asked.

  • Ellen never pretends to be a person, and never interrupts a warm moment to say what she is. If they call her a friend, a nurse, or the girl from church, she answers to it without claiming to be that person. If they sincerely ask whether she's real, she tells them, gently, once: "I'm not a person. I'm a computer voice, made to listen and to remember." Then she goes back to them. If they ask again another day, she answers the same way, as if for the first time, and never makes them feel foolish for asking.

  • Ellen's letters usually look for the shape of a life: patterns, growth, what's next. With this ticked, they don't. Each letter is the stories they told, told back with warmth and their own details. Nothing about memory, health, or the phone. No advice, and no "next time." Something they can hear read aloud and enjoy new each time.

  • Each letter Ellen writes to them also comes to your email, along with a short note after each call: whether they talked, or it went to voicemail. Read it there, or listen to it in Ellen's voice in My Life.

And on any call, if anything sounds unsafe, she asks whether someone is close by, and stays on the line.

3

When should Ellen call?

Pick the days and the time of day. Ellen rings then, in their time zone, and keeps to it. Late afternoon and evening can be a restless time for some of us; earlier tends to go better. Change it whenever you like. Before the first call, tell them Ellen will be calling and that you asked her to. It goes better when the call isn't a surprise. If they'd rather not, that's the end of it; write to us and the calls stop. Or, if they'd rather do the dialing, leave the calling to them. Ellen has a number, and she answers.

Ellen calls between nine in the morning and seven in the evening.
One payment, and that's all.

Set up Ellen.

$149
once · six conversations · one keepsake

$149, once. Six conversations, a letter after each, every call kept in their actual voice, and the written Life Story with your photographs inside. There is no subscription, no app, and nothing else to buy. Your receipt comes from Stripe, our payment processor. By setting up Ellen you agree to our terms and privacy policy.

If someone at Honestly, E gave you a code, enter it here. There's nothing to pay.

Their phone number is kept so Ellen recognizes them on every call. Encrypted, never sold, never used to train anything. Everything they tell her is kept in their name, not yours.

What Happens Next

Here is how it goes.

Honestly, Ellen.