Notes to My Daughter: A Story of Bonds so Strong, They Cannot Be Broken, Even in Death

by Joni Hewitt

Overview

The loss of a child brings with it an insurmountable pain. This is one mothers incredible story of the loss of her own precious daughter and the pairs ongoing relationship after the daughters death. The love shared between Joni and her daughter, Kelly, is so strong that it transcends the boundaries of this earth.

As Joni grieves, Kelly reaches from beyond the grave to help her go on living. Kelly listens and responds over and over again through signs and messages and doesnt give up until she is certain her mother is going to be OK. With Kellys help, Joni is finally able to move forward.

Our journey doesnt end when we leave the earthly plane. Kelly proves to her mom that we never really lose our loved ones; there truly is a heaven. We will see them again.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781504345613
Publisher:	Balboa Press
Publication date:	01/03/2016
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	124
File size:	3 MB

About the Author

Joni Hewitt gained incredible insight into the afterlife after the death of her daughter. At her daughter's insistence from the other side, Hewitt has been compelled to share their story and spread the knowledge and promise that she was given.

Hewitt lives in Ventura County, California, with her husband of twenty-four years and their twelve-year-old daughter. They are also parents to four grown sons.

Read an Excerpt

Notes To My Daughter

A Story of Bonds So Strong, They Cannot Be Broken, Even In Death

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By Joni Hewitt

Balboa Press

Copyright © 2015 Joni Hewitt
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5043-4560-6

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CHAPTER 1

Someone Watching Over Me

"Hurry up, grandma! Hurry up, grandma!" The three of us held on to the top of the fence, swaying back and forth as we chanted.

A visit from Gram always made the day special. Standing on the low, white picket fence in our front yard, my bare feet between the pickets, I stretched my neck to keep the bus stop in view. My brother Jim who was just one year older than me, and my sister Judy who was seven, were with me. My younger sister, June, was still a baby so she stayed inside. I was four years old, and Gram was already a huge part of my life.

Then, the big, blue commuter bus pulled up to the stop, and Gram stepped down in her light pink nurse's aide uniform. I jumped up and down as I watched her walk down the street toward us with a big, loving smile on her face. I remember her chestnut brown hair pulled back loosely to frame her beautiful face. She was still stunning at fifty years old.

The four of us children were raised as Catholics. We attended Catholic school and each made our First Holy Communion at St. Leo's Church. I remember it being a big deal. A picture of devotion, I practiced saying my prayers every night to prepare for the big day. When it finally arrived, I felt like a miniature bride in my white dress and long veil.

It was very shortly after my communion that my parents split up. They had horrible battles with lots of screaming and yelling. During those arguments, I would run up the stairs to my room, and hide deep under the covers of my bed. I held my hands over my ears while I hummed a song, waiting for the screaming to stop.

Once, I remember falling asleep while hiding there, and being awakened by someone calling my name.

I heard it very clearly. "Joni! Joni! It's okay."

I sat up in the bed and looked around to see who was calling my name. But I was alone in the room. I was positive I had not imagined what I heard. I sat there for a moment wondering where the voice had come from. Who had said my name? A shiver went up my spine as I pulled the covers up over my head once more, and peered from beneath them. I never shared that eerie experience with anyone, but I never forgot it. I know someone had been in that room with me.

It wasn't long after that experience that my sisters, brother, and I moved out of our comfortable, two-story home and into a run-down duplex with my mother. She was a far cry from the perfect mother. The only attention we received was when she yelled at us for not cleaning the house well enough. Since she worked nights as a bartender, we had to get ourselves up and off to school each morning while she slept. I was in third grade at the time. I made myself breakfast, and wore the same dirty clothes to school each day.

Then one day we came home from school, and our mother was gone.

My sister, Judy, was responsible for making the call to the bar each day after school to tell my mother we were home. This particular day in May, the person on the other end of the line told Judy my mother had not shown up for work that day. Judy hung up the phone and immediately called Gram to see if she might know where our mother was. Gram told Judy that she would try and find out, and call us back. The four of us huddled in a circle around the phone waiting for Gram to call. When the phone rang, Judy answered.

I don't know what Gram's exact words to my sister were, but Judy turned to look at me with tears welling up in her eyes. Then she screamed, "Mommy left us!"

I remember immediately bursting into tears, and we all stood there crying as Judy hung up the phone. Gram and dad arrived a short time later, and took us to Gram's house. I was eight years old, and from that day on, Gram became my mother.

We moved to a rough neighborhood on the lower west side of Cleveland. The stench of the nearby steel mill where most people earned a living always hung in the air. Religion was an important part of our life with Gram. One of my favorite childhood memories is of lying in bed at night with Gram saying our prayers. I can still hear her voice reciting the Our Father, or teaching me how to pray the rosary.

Gram worked full time as a nurses' aide, and would then come home and care for us. My father was with us some of the time, but Gram was the one who raised us. It was a hard life for her, but she never made us feel like a burden.

After my mother left, I always felt unworthy of love. I couldn't help but notice the other kids at school had their mothers involved in every aspect of their lives. I wondered why my own mother hadn't loved me enough to stay. As a teenager, I was unsupervised a lot after school, and I got mixed up with the wrong crowd. I began cutting classes and staying out too late. It was then that I met a tough guy from the neighborhood who was a couple years older than me. He paid attention to me, and I thought I was in love. I had my first sexual encounter at the young age of fifteen. I remember being terrified, and I stopped him after just a few seconds. But those few seconds were all it took.

The following month, I missed my period. I kept waiting and praying it would start, but it never did. Gram knew that I was late, and she was angry. We took the long bus ride to the doctor's office together in silence. I was a scared little girl in a Rolling Stones t-shirt, and torn up jeans, when the doctor confirmed the worst — I was pregnant. My head began to spin, and I felt like I would be sick right there under the bright, fluorescent lights that glared down on me. Instead, I sat on the examining table and cried.

I remember thinking, "How can this be possible? I had stopped him within seconds. How can I be pregnant?"

Gram's anger quickly turned to tenderness, and she hugged me lovingly, telling me not to worry.

Gram said, "We'll take care of it together."

A few months into my pregnancy, a social worker visited me. She convinced me the best thing to do for the baby — and myself — would be adoption. The boy I had been so crazy about had disappeared the minute I told him I was pregnant. I was no longer in school, and I had no idea how I was going to care for the new life I felt growing inside of me. I thought the social worker was right. Gram did not agree. She was furious with me when I told her of my plan. The last thing she wanted was for me to give up my baby. Gram was willing to do whatever it took to help me, and she told me so.

Gram said, "We can do this together."

I wasn't feeling the same confidence Gram was feeling. The months went by, and I was soon due for my nine-month check-up. I saw a doctor at the clinic inside the hospital where Gram still worked as a nurse's aide. The day of my appointment, I took the bus by myself and arrived at the clinic early. As I took my seat in the waiting room, I noticed a new mother sitting across from me. She smiled when our eyes met. Her newborn was next to her in a rolling hospital bassinet. I stood up and timidly walked over to the bassinet to get a closer look at her baby. I peered down at the miniature form tightly swaddled in a soft, pink blanket, and I saw a tiny face staring back at me. At that moment, an overwhelming feeling of certainty came over me. I swear, the precious little girl in the bassinet smiled up at me as if she knew all along what I, myself, had just realized. I made the decision at that moment. I was going to keep my baby. The next morning, I went into labor.

After 27 hours of agonizing labor, my daughter Kelly was born. I'll never forget the first moment I laid eyes on her. I took in every detail from her perfectly round head to her long, slender legs. She had olive skin, dark hair, and big, dark brown eyes. There was a tiny mole on her neck that reminded me of a chocolate chip that had melted there. Kelly was perfect. As I stared, mesmerized by her beauty, I felt a love more powerful than anything I had ever experienced. My whole life changed in an instant, and I realized nothing else would ever be as important as this. I had become a teen mom.

When it was time for Kelly and me to go home, Gram helped take care of Kelly, just as she had promised. When Kelly was around three months old, her cries awakened me in the middle of the night. When I picked her up, I realized she was running a very high fever. Her face was fiery red, and her tender skin felt blazing to the touch. I was in a panic, and I quickly ran to wake Gram. I stood by biting my nails while Gram expertly filled the kitchen sink, and then gently lowered Kelly's tiny, unclothed body into the tepid water. Gram soothingly splashed the water onto Kelly's body using a small washcloth, slowly wiping her brow and limbs. I don't know what I would have done if Gram had not been there to teach me how to be a mother.

CHAPTER 2

Angels And Spirit Guides

The year progressed, and I adjusted to my new role as mom. I was no longer the rebellious teenager that stayed out too late with friends. I was home at night, caring for my daughter. Kelly was an exceptionally good baby, crying only when she was hungry or sick. Even at a few months old, I noticed how much she enjoyed her bath time. Kelly would wiggle with contentment as I massaged baby lotion all over her back or brushed what little hair she had with the soft bristled baby brush. Kelly loved to be touched and held.

When Kelly was one year old, I became involved with another guy from my neighborhood that I had known for years. We were married in front of a judge in a quick ceremony. Within a few short months, I realized I had made a huge mistake.

On more than one occasion during that brief marriage, I remember laying in bed at night and experiencing the feeling of actually leaving my body. I would be soaring over oceans, mountains, and marching armies. I felt like a bird flying over the earth taking in the sites below. I later learned that this is a phenomenon referred to as astral travel. I think it was my subconscious way of escaping a terrible situation. I filed for divorce, and the marriage was over before my son Jimmy was born. I was eighteen years old, living on my own with one small child, and pregnant.

Kelly had just celebrated her second birthday when a social worker paid us a visit. Kelly sat in the middle of the living room on the brand new orange tricycle Gram had bought for her. I sat down on the couch next to the social worker.

As Kelly sat on her bike, she began to sing, "Happy birthday to me."

I had fixed Kelly's hair into two high ponytails, and she looked adorable singing her song while trying to peddle the bike. The social worker and I both paused to smile and watch the priceless show Kelly performed for us. Afterward, the social worker quickly explained the reason for her visit. She said she wanted to help us get on our feet. She appeared to be a kind woman, and I was very grateful to hear those words. I told her that I had always wanted to be a secretary. She offered to look into clerical training programs available to me.

I gave birth to my son two months later. Kelly, Jimmy and I were living in a run down apartment complex several blocks away from Gram. Oftentimes, I would place Jimmy into his simple umbrella stroller, gather Kelly into my arms, and walk to Gram's house for a meal. I carried Kelly in one arm while pushing the stroller with my free hand. When Kelly became too heavy, I would put her down to walk. I pushed the stroller slowly so her tiny legs could keep up with me. Kelly was so little, but she never cried as she toddled quietly behind me. We survived on public assistance and the care packages Gram sent home with us after our visits.

As I became older and wiser, or maybe just tougher, I resolved to get out of that life. I knew in my heart that my children and I deserved something better. Although I always kept our home clean and took good care of my kids, I knew we needed more. And the only way I could achieve that was by finding a job.

The social worker had sent information to me on a clerical training program offered in my neighborhood. I looked through the paperwork and called the number listed. Within a few months of Jimmy's birth, I was attending clerical training classes. Each morning, I took the bus to a nearby daycare center to drop Kelly and Jimmy off. Then I would catch the next bus that took me to the training center. At the same time, I took night classes to earn my high school diploma while Gram watched the kids. I completed a six-month clerical training program, and was twenty years old when I began my first job with an insurance company located in downtown Cleveland. I stayed with that company for the next sixteen years. I worked hard and was promoted quickly.

Within a couple of years, Kelly, Jimmy and I moved into a cozy, downstairs unit of a duplex in our neighborhood. Eventually, I was able to get a car, which made it much easier to get around. When Gram retired from her job at the hospital, she moved into the unit above us. It was a perfect situation. Kelly began kindergarten at the Catholic school located on the corner of our street. Gram walked to pick Kelly up each day after school, and spend the afternoon hours with her until I returned from work. Jimmy was enrolled in a daycare program at the local community center, and I would drop him off on my way downtown. During this time, Kelly was forming the same special bond with Gram that Gram and I had shared my entire life.

I was learning to be a mother as I was growing up. Working a full-time job and being a single mother to two small children was not easy. I'm so lucky and grateful that I had Gram to help us. Still, there were times when I would lose my patience with Kelly and Jimmy, and yell at them. I hated myself for that because it reminded me of my own mother; the mother I never wanted to be. I made a vow to myself that no matter how hard my life became I would never desert my children. Being abandoned by my own mother had left a permanent scar on my heart. How does a mother do that? That was something I would never understand. So, I tried to be the best mother I could be to my precious babies. Kelly was a bright, outgoing little girl who made friends very easily. She was also a very affectionate child, and would say, "I love you, Mommy," several times each day.

I would respond, "I love you, too, Kelly."

I would tuck Kelly and Jimmy into their beds each night, read them a bedtime story, and afterwards, they would say their prayers.

Before I turned out the lights each night in the room they shared, I would say, "Goodnight! Sleep tight! Don't let the bed bugs bite!" as they smiled at me from underneath their covers.

I still said my own prayers before I went to bed each night as Gram had taught me.

I would always end my prayers with the same request, "Dear God, please help me be a good mother to my children. Keep them safe from harm always."

By the time Kelly was ten years old, and Jimmy was eight, we had moved into a single, two-story home. They each had their own room and although Gram wasn't living above us any longer, we saw her often. I managed to keep Kelly and Jimmy in Catholic school every year on my modest salary, and they were both doing well at their studies. Kelly was twelve when she joined the school basketball team. I was thrilled that she showed an interest in sports, but I missed a lot of her games because they were usually held right after school while I was still at work.

One night, I tucked Jimmy into bed then walked across the hall to Kelly's room to find her crying.

When I asked Kelly what was wrong, she replied, "Mom, I wish you could be at more of my games. The other mothers are always there. I scored a point for our team today, and you weren't even there to see it."

I felt terribly guilty, and I said, "I'm sorry, Kelly. I do want to be there, but sometimes it's impossible when I have to be at work all day."

Kelly responded with a slight smile, and mumbled, "I understand, Mom."

I kissed her goodnight and watched as she turned away from me to face the wall. I understood what she was feeling. She wanted her mom there all the time. I wished I didn't have to work full time so I could be there more. I hated that my kids let themselves into an empty house each day after school. The few times that I was able to take days off to attend field trips with them weren't enough, but they had to do.

Overall, Kelly was a happy kid, always surrounded by a lot of friends. The three of us were doing pretty well, and Gram was never far away when we needed her. Then, I became involved in another bad relationship. I really had a knack for picking the worst.

Kelly didn't like this guy, and she told me so. When we were alone, she would say, "Why are you with him? I hate him and I don't want him here!"

Kelly was right. I didn't want him there either and I was trying to get out of the relationship. One day, I was taking my lunch break in the park next to our office building. I was sitting alone on the park bench when a man sat down next to me and started a conversation. He was around my age, and nice looking. As we talked, he asked if I was seeing anyone. I told him I was in a relationship that I was trying to end.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Notes To My Daughter by Joni Hewitt. Copyright © 2015 Joni Hewitt. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Contents

Introduction, ix,
Chapter 1 Someone Watching Over Me, 1,
Chapter 2 Angels And Spirit Guides, 7,
Chapter 3 Behind The Laughter, 14,
Chapter 4 Little Sister, 20,
Chapter 5 Angels Among Us, 24,
Chapter 6 The Next Battle, 33,
Chapter 7 August, 43,
Chapter 8 Dimes From Heaven, 56,
Chapter 9 Reasons To Believe, 62,
Chapter 10 The Dream, 68,
Chapter 11 I Am With You!, 73,
Chapter 12 Wanting More, 78,
Chapter 13 Let Me Go, 89,
Chapter 14 One More Reading, 95,
Chapter 15 Fly Away, 100,
Epilogue, 105,