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Publisher’s Note: This work is the story of a grandmother’s journey through the grief of dealing with her granddaughter’s passing. All effort was made to contact individuals named herein.

“Is It Really Goodbye?” can be ordered through Cavern of Dreams Publishing: www.cavernofdreamspublishing.com or by emailing Diane J. Lewis, directly: djlewis660@hotmail.com. It is also available on Amazon.

1. Lewis, Diane J., 1938-. 2. Grandparent and child--Ontario--Paris--Biography. 3. Granddaughters--Death--Psychological aspects. 4. Bereavement--Psychological aspects. I. Title.

First, I want to thank my husband, Lloyd, for his understanding and support; I would never have been able to write this book without it.

I want to thank my granddaughter, Amanda’s sister Kelsey, for her support and help; my daughter, Gerri Lee, for all the computer help, and her support; my sister, Rose Marie; my Aunt Laural; and my friend, Mary Ann, for their continued understanding and support.

I would also like to thank Hazel of the Hazel Tree, who explained so many of the experiences I was having, and Sharon Quirt for her help, as well. When I felt as though I was drowning, and I didn’t know where to turn for help, these two mediums helped me keep my balance over the last eight years.

Most of all, I would like to thank my beautiful granddaughter, Amanda, for her faith, her guidance, her love, and for pushing me for five years into realizing that I could do this.

Many thanks to the editing team at Cavern of Dreams Publishing––Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour, Bethany Jamieson, and Danielle Tanguay for the amazing job they did putting my story together.

Diane J. Lewis resides in Paris, Ontario with her husband, Lloyd, and her son, John.

Amanda said it was absolutely true that when we pass over we go directly into the light and “check in,” after which we are able to return to Earth, if we so choose. She told Hazel to tell me to keep reading all the books I could about the afterlife, and that she loved that so many people had shown up for her funeral.

She told me to keep a journal about everything that was happening, and she suggested that I share my experiences by writing a book. I was stunned––it seemed absurd that I could write a book, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the idea.

“I don’t know how to write a book!” I told Hazel. “I am not a very descriptive person, I am relatively direct and don’t beat around the bush––this seems impossible for me to do!”

At the time, I didn’t realize Amanda could hear everything I was saying; I hadn’t put two and two together yet. But Hazel said that Amanda seemed to have faith in me…

Amanda’s statement, spoken through my psychic medium, Hazel, was the spark that ignited the writing of this book.

The sudden passing of Amanda Owen, my eighteen-year-old granddaughter, in a car accident, turned my life upside down. I had no idea how I was going to move forward with my life; however, I know that when God calls us, we have no choice in the matter.

After my visit with Hazel, and hearing what Amanda had relayed to her, I knew Amanda wanted me to write this book to help anyone who had lost a loved one. She wanted me to share what to look for after they have passed: the little things spirits will do to let you know they are okay. One should be aware of things being moved for no reason; doors that stand open when they should be closed; doorbells that ring, yet no one is there; and the television changing channels on its own. Those are just a few of the occurrences I have experienced, and will share with you.

Although I had various unexplained experiences before Amanda’s death, the shock of her passing seems to have opened me wide to receiving from the Other Side—Amanda has opened a whole new world to me. I have learned so much about the other dimension since she was called away from us; she has shown me that there is life after death. I am on a journey that I would never have believed possible––a trail of discovery.

I am overwhelmed with everything that has happened since Amanda passed; it is now 2014, and I have completed my book to the end of December 2013. As I reread all the experiences I have had, I feel incredibly blessed. Everything that has happened has come in cycles, with most of the events appearing to be repeating themselves, although not in an orderly manner. Some have appeared over a period of two or three months, sometimes more, then not appeared again until months later. These unusual cycles apply to everything I have experienced: the visions, the spirit cats, the hitting and the poking, the glowing lamps and doors, the waves of light on the ceiling…everything.

I have come to the conclusion, with the help of Hazel, that it is me who is attracting the spirits, not our house, and if we leave they will follow us to any destination we go. I am overly sensitive now, and I am this way because, if I wasn’t, it would be impossible for me to access the Other Side—I would no longer have my visions, see or hear spirits, or feel other peoples’ anxieties when they are ill. This gift of mine is from God, and I must always remember to use it wisely; I have a long way to go, but I am learning.

The events in this book are mine, my family’s, and my friends’ experiences; I cannot ignore they have taken place. Just because I have finished the book does not mean that everything has stopped, either. It has escalated in different directions.

Hazel once told me a quote…

“My mentor was in the meditation garden one day. A boy came into the garden, and he was holding a cage. There was a bird in the cage, but the boy had left the cage door open.

‘You left the cage open,’ my mentor said to the boy.

‘Oh, do not worry; the bird will not leave the cage.’ She sat and thought about it, and sure enough, the bird did not leave the cage.

My mentor reflected on it further and said, ‘Do you not find that many people in life do not have the courage to leave the cage? Look what they have missed out on. They could fly really high and see different sights if only they would have the courage to fly out of the cage.’”

Hazel continued to explain: “The door has been open to you for many years. This feeling of bliss and peace will continue, but you will never go back into the cage. You have been given the opportunity to smell different smells, and see different things; it is how the Great One wants you to be. That is the greatest gift of all––use it wisely.”

Her message to me was heartfelt––I was free from the cage. Very few have the courage to break free from their bars.

My belief in God and the Other Side is so much stronger now. My gift of being able to communicate with Amanda, through Hazel, is beyond my comprehension. If anyone had told me ten years ago that this would be happening to me, I would have thought they were insane. I believed these experiences could happen to other people, but not to me. Some of the episodes I have been through since Amanda passed were very frightening, but the majority of them have been uplifting.

The gift Amanda has given me has proven to me one hundred percent that there is an afterlife—and that is the greatest gift of all.

Memorial stone at St. John’s College, Brantford, ON, featuring students and faculty who have passed on, including 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.

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.

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.

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 belt. She had always been very safety conscious, even as a little girl.

Later that night, Kelsey dropped a bomb on us. About one week before she was killed, Amanda had told her sister about a dream she had had. In the dream, Amanda and Kelsey had been driving along when the car they were in had suddenly swerved off the road and crashed, killing Amanda. Kelsey had assured Amanda that if that were ever to happen, she would grab the wheel and steer the car back on track. This revelation absolutely floored me and made me think that maybe Amanda’s death was predetermined, and, sadly, inevitable.

Amanda’s visitation was held at the Budgel Funeral Home, and the funeral director told us over two thousand people attended both the visitation and the funeral. It had never occurred to us that Amanda had touched so many people’s lives, and it warmed our hearts to see so many people cared about her and took the time to give their condolences to our family. People were lined up inside and all the way out of the funeral home; our family stood in the receiving line from 12:25 p.m. to 10:00 p.m. It was a dreadfully long day. Many of Amanda’s friends were in the room adjacent to ours; I was astounded at the number of young people who came to show their support. It touched our family deeply.

Amanda’s casket was closed. Her picture had been placed on top, for all to see. There was a DVD slideshow that played all day repeatedly, and it was comforting to see the way the funeral director had put everything together. Kelsey was in charge of the music playlist, and she could not have chosen anything better; two songs that really struck home with Lloyd and I were, “You’re So Beautiful” and “What a Wonderful World.” We still think of our Amanda, to this day, when these songs are played, for they remind us of how much we miss her.

The night of the visitation, I couldn’t sleep, so I wrote a eulogy for Amanda to be read during the service the next day. I wasn’t sure I would be able to deliver it, but I made it through, and the tears held off until after I got back to my seat. It was an Anglican service, and the minister was wonderful, even people who didn’t normally attend church thought so. After the service, Amanda was cremated.

On July 10, 2006, we laid Amanda to rest in a private, graveside service. After her burial, we started to see lots of flowers appearing on her grave, and there were a dozen solar lights that individuals had placed there, as well. Lloyd and I looked after her grave, keeping it neat, and replaced the flowers as they died. As time passed, many different tokens appeared on her grave: a large butterfly, a glass jar with individually wrapped candies inside for visitors, hats, jewellery … every time we visited, we could see how much her friends loved her and missed her.

The spot where Amanda passed was decorated, as well. The accident happened on the corner of a large lot out in the country that was owned by a nice family, and they allowed flowers and solar lights to be placed on the spot where she died. A few years later, a new couple moved in, and they were also very wonderful in this regard. We asked if we could plant a Rose of Sharon bush, and they said it would be no issue. We ended up planting two, and when we returned to the spot a couple months later, the couple had dug out a slightly raised oval garden and planted a small round bush in between ours.

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