Is It Really Goodbye?: One Woman's Journey Through Grief

By Diane J. Lewis

To have proof that there is an afterlife is a gift from Heaven.

My granddaughter, Amanda Owen, passed tragically in a horrific car accident at the age of 18. I never thought I would hear her voice again, but six weeks later, I heard her say, “Gram, I’m okay.”

From the Other Side, Amanda set me on a journey of discovery: about the afterlife, and about myself. Through my medium, Hazel, Amanda has guided me to share what I have learned through the writing of this book––she was, literally, my ghost writer.

Six years after Amanda left us, I know with certainty she was right––she is okay. That has taken some of the sorrow away. But, I still have a long way to go––the journey my granddaughter has set me on isn’t finished yet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781927899083

Book preview

blessed.

Section One

Amanda

Chapter One

Growing up with Amanda

February 19, 1988, was one of the most wonderful days of my life—it was the day my first granddaughter, Amanda, was born. My daughter, Gerri, invited me to witness my granddaughter’s birth, for which I am, to this day, very grateful. It was absolutely amazing watching her enter this world. After giving birth to my two children, I was excited to be able to witness, second-hand, the beginning of a new life—an experience I think everyone should have.

Amanda came out grey and not breathing, and the doctor had to help her get started. Although I did not panic, I was very thankful I had attended the birthing classes with Gerri, and I held my breath until she gave her first gasp of air. To try to describe that moment, and the emotions running through me, is really hard—there was relief, as well as such a strong feeling of love. I cherish the moment I heard her first cry—it was the beginning of our short journey together. I was on a high after that for years.

After Amanda’s passing, more than ever, I believe I was meant to be at her birth; Amanda was the light of my life and she filled me with such joy. Our strong connection began at her birth and continued to grow stronger. When I watched her play, my heart would burst with love—I thought the sun and moon shone on her. She was a loving child––an open book where her feelings were concerned––and I think that is what fortified our closeness. Unlike her mother and sister, Amanda could openly show me her love, as I could show her mine—there were no emotional barriers to overcome. We spent as much time together as she had wanted, and I was always there for her. I thank my daughter for letting her spend so many precious and memorable moments with me.

Amanda also shared strong connections with my husband, Lloyd; she named him Pappy when she began to talk, and when she was older, she had a tendency to leave notes for Lloyd in his car for him to find later, and when he did, it always made his day.

As Amanda was growing up, we spent a large amount of time together as a family. Every August, Lloyd, John, Amanda, and her little sister, Kelsey, and I rented a cottage for a week in Port Dover. Amanda also stayed over at our house on Sunday nights from the time she was one year old until she was about five. That was when she started school; but even then, she would call and ask to stay over. I couldn’t refuse, and sometimes she would be with us for three days at a time. When Kelsey was old enough, she would come with Amanda, but sometimes she would ask to go home because she missed her mom; Amanda, on the other hand, never asked to go home.

Amanda loved our home, a ninety-year old country house. When she was seven, she asked me if she could have our house when I died, and I remember I couldn’t stop laughing, but I knew, too, that her request came straight from the heart—she felt like she had two homes. She would often cry when it was time to leave, and her sadness made me feel like crying, too. Later, she would tell me through Hazel that our home had been a piece of heaven to her.

When Amanda and Kelsey were around eight and nine years old, Lloyd and I took the girls to Casa Loma in Toronto and they loved it. After we finished touring the castle, Amanda approached me and very seriously asked, Gram, can you and Pappy buy this house so we can all live together? That is where Amanda’s heart was.

Growing up, I would say Amanda probably spent about twenty percent of her time with me, Lloyd, and John. John loved Amanda and Kelsey with all his heart—he would do anything for them. In the fall, he always raked big piles of leaves for the girls to run and jump in, and in the winter he would shovel the driveway and make a huge snow bank for them to slide down. How they loved their Uncle John! A few years after Amanda passed, I had a reading from my psychic-medium, Hazel, who told me Amanda’s spirit had informed her that if she was still alive on Earth she would have moved into our house and looked after John, who is mentally challenged. That was Amanda’s relationship with her Uncle John—neither of the girls ever made him feel any different. She also said she would have made a few changes to the house as well; I had to laugh—that, too, was Amanda.

Amanda and I had a lot in common. She loved to sew, bake, and play games. She loved live theatre, and was very active, enjoying walking or biking on the trails, tennis, swimming, skipping, and dancing. All of these things we did together, Amanda and I. Kelsey would sometimes join us.

My granddaughter always wore her heart on her sleeve; if she said she loved you, she meant it—they were never just words to her. At her high school graduation, when she walked onto the stage to accept her diploma from her principal, Mrs. Dalia, Amanda hugged her and whispered in her ear, I love you. Never had a student done that in all Mrs. Dalia’s years of teaching, and she was deeply moved by Amanda’s expression of love. Amanda was never afraid to show her affection with a big hug, or a kind word.

Amanda had a wonderful habit of writing little notes to me, as well, hidden for me to find later. They were simple sentiments: Gram, I love you. Amanda, with the word love often replaced by a heart. I have continued to find these notes everywhere in the seven years since she has passed—tucked in my sewing room, office, or on the front porch. On the writing board I have on the refrigerator she wrote a beautiful message for all of us shortly before she died: Amanda Owen was here. Amanda loves Gramma, Pappy, and John, Woo Hoo. This note remains on the board to this day, and will remain there for as long as we are alive. Her notes have meant so much to me.

Amanda aspired to be a fashion designer after she finished high school. In her last year she had to make five outfits for her sewing class. I remember she was running short on time with her assignments and asked me for help. One of the projects was to make a coat, and when she showed me the material she had chosen, I was stunned—it was a large, black and white, hound’s tooth. The first coat I ever made for myself, forty years ago, was a large, black and white hound’s tooth—but that was our connection. When the coat was finished, it was put on display at her school, and some of the other girls wanted to buy it. Amanda was so proud of that coat. When she passed, Kelsey gave me the coat, and it is one of my most cherished belongings.

Around her eighteenth birthday, Amanda finally got the braces off her teeth, and switched from glasses to contact lenses. Lloyd and I went to see her in a cheerleading competition, and when we arrived I couldn’t see her in the group of girls standing in the hallway—Lloyd had to point her out to me. She looked so different, I hadn’t recognized her without the braces and glasses I had become so accustomed to seeing on her for the six years she had them. I had not realized what a beautiful young woman she had become.

Despite the ADHD she had been diagnosed with when she was ten years old, and continued to struggle with daily, Amanda accomplished her goal of graduating with her friends by taking supplementary evening classes. She used to talk so fast sometimes that I would have to ask her to slow down so I could keep up with her, but she was never offended when I asked her; again, that was our Amanda.

Watching Amanda mature was like watching a beautiful rose begin to bloom, and our bond continued to grow as she blossomed into the loving and giving young woman she was––a beautiful, funny girl with a big heart and a bright future.

Chapter Two

Our Darkest Days—Death of Our Granddaughter

On July 1, 2006, Lloyd and I returned from our two-week vacation in England. When we had been preparing to return home, I had felt like I was going to cry; I hadn’t wanted to leave. I couldn’t understand why I felt that way, and I was embarrassed because it was so unusual for me—I didn’t cry easily.

How soon that would change.

Once Lloyd and I settled in our seats on the airplane I was calmer, and I started looking forward to being home. However, had I known what we would face when we arrived, I would have stayed in England…

We arrived safely home at 5 p.m. As I was unpacking, I was thinking about the great holiday we had had visiting Lloyd’s cousin, his wife and children, and my friend Jan. The emotional state I had been in before we left was all but forgotten. We had been home for about two hours when the telephone rang. I had no idea that call was going to shatter my world and change my life forever.

The voice on the phone was steady, leaving us unprepared for the devastating news it carried: our beautiful, caring, fun-loving granddaughter had been killed in a car accident. It couldn’t be true! I felt like my heart had just been ripped out of my chest—how was I going to survive? All I wanted to do was crawl into a hole and stay there so I would not have to face the pain, which was, without a doubt, the worst pain a person could feel. A numb feeling swept over me then, one that would last for three weeks until I finally broke down and gradually began to feel again.

John was my rock during that time, and I believe God gave him an inner strength because of his disability. I am very thankful for the comfort he provided, particularly because at the time there were not any support groups for these circumstances for non-immediate family members. Lloyd and I sought out professional help by calling the Crisis Centre at the Brantford General Hospital, and it was the best thing for us. We got help immediately, and we were both able to vent our bottled up feelings.

Those closest to Amanda suffered similarly; we were all in shock and hurting dreadfully. Kelsey’s reaction was very close to my own: she also became numb. The police had gone to the restaurant where she was working, and drove her home after telling her. Learning about Amanda’s death must have come as a shock to Kelsey. She felt there was something wrong with her because she could not cry, even though I kept telling her she just couldn’t handle the trauma of what had happened.

Gerri, on the other hand, was in awfully rough shape right after she received the news. Gerri and her boyfriend had been away at their trailer that weekend, about a three-hour drive north. I called the person that owned the camp and asked if they could get Gerri to the phone, but to make sure her boyfriend accompanied her. I had no idea that he hadn’t, and as I delivered the devastating news over the phone, Gerri started screaming and the camp owners had to get help for her. We were so far away, and were in no condition to drive there. Eventually, Gerri got professional help and was put on medication shortly thereafter.

Gerri with Kelsey and Amanda

Although our family finally learned to live with the pain of losing Amanda, the agony is always there. We never know when it will surface—it may be something small or something large and traumatic that can trigger it, but it is always, always, there.

Amanda was only eighteen years old when she died; she had just graduated from high school on Thursday, June 29, 2006. On Saturday, July 1st, she spent the day at Turkey Point with her friends, and afterward the kids decided to drive to a friend’s house for a barbecue. The accident happened on the way back to Turkey Point. There were three carloads of teenagers, and there were six of them in the Volkswagen that Amanda was in, two in the front seats and four in the back. There were only two or three seat belts in the back, and I think Amanda was sitting on her friend Nicholas’ lap, because four teenagers could not sit side by side. They were driving south down Turkey Point Road when the driver, Beaumont, came around a curve and an opposing car went straight through the intersection. Beaumont took evasive action, but he hit the gravel and went into the ditch, where the car went end over end before finally stopping.

Amanda and Nicholas were thrown from the car; Amanda landed beside it and Nicholas about thirty feet away. Nicholas suffered severe head injuries resulting in a coma from which he later awakened; Amanda died instantly. Her body was left lying beside the car for four hours—it took the coroner that long to get there—and that greatly disturbs me to this day. I couldn’t help but see the accident as ironic because Amanda had just gotten her own car only three weeks before, and she had been adamant that no one could ride in her car without wearing a seat