A Sewell Family Story/Understanding Purpose

My Mother, Katie Sewell.

(Photo of Katie at age 17 when she was pregnat with me)

Some people can’t remember the dreams they’ve had during their sleeping hours, while others, like myself, remember them in vivid detail. Sometimes, I analyze my subconscious thoughts in an attempt to figure out if there was some sort of message or greater understanding I was supposed to gain. However, most times, I just wake up, think about them for a few seconds and then move on. From time to time though, I’ll have dreams that flirt with the edge of the supernatural and I always remember those, even when I’m wide awake.

Last week as everyone celebrated Mother’s Day I thought about my mom, Katie, who passed away twelve years ago. I also recalled one of those supernatural dreams about her that I had shortly after her death. Before I give the details of the mystical dream, I need to tell you about her so that you’ll come to understand how remarkable and unique she was.

In the early 1950’s my Grandmother, Lorraine was a recent transplant from Memphis, TN. She was a single mother with two children, my mother and her handicapped brother John. Lorraine’s mother died giving birth to her and by the time she was 13 years of age, her father, a man whose heart had grown cold and bitter from coming of age in Memphis in the early 1900’s, shipped her off to live with other relatives.

When Lorraine arrived in Chicago she found work as a domestic servant as a means to support her children. Lorraine would eventually have a total of seven children.

By the time Katie turned seventeen she welcomed me into the world. My father wasn’t ready to settle down and be a family man, but my mother somehow convinced him to remain. She was determined to not be a young woman who made one mistake after the next by having a house full of babies. So, it would be another seven years before she became pregnant with my brother Misalo.

In 1978, my mother was in her late twenties and in the prime of her life but was thrown a curve ball when she learned that she had to have quadruple bypass heart surgery. Although the surgery saved her life, it took a heavy toll on our families’ financial resources.

(Photo Below: Misalo Sewell age 6 at hospital)

By 1981, my brother Misalo passed away due to rare condition called, miss connective tissue disease. My father took the loss the hardest. He damned God for the loss and drank excessively to cope with his grief. A short time after my brother’s funeral services my father decided that he couldn’t stay in the house around all of the memories and said that he needed to go for a drive. My mother, who was very worried about him said to me, “Go with your father. Remind him that he has another son.” That day we drove to his older sister Layuna Sewell’s house. Layuna sat both me and my father down. She smiled at me then told her brother to put his drink down. She said, “Brother dear. I do believe you have flipped out and you need some help.” The loss of a child for a parent is perhaps one of the worst horrors imaginable and my father who loved his children so much needed help as well as love and support which he got from all of his brothers and sisters as well as my mother and I.

My mother chose to fight for a better happier life. She refused to damn God or fall into deep depression. She put so much love into what she had which was my father and myself. She pushed my father and at times drove him crazy. Once she was done with him she’d get on my case about everything from grades to not becoming a teen parent. She was a driver and at times handed out tough love if you had it coming.

(Photo below: Earl Sewell age 20)

When I reached the age of twenty-two, I left home. I was ready to go and make it on my own. My mother said to me, “you can always come back if something doesn’t work out.” My father, to my surprise took my leaving hard. He said. “I didn’t think you’d leave until you were about twenty-five.” I remember thinking. There is no way I was going to hang around for another three years.

Without the watchful eye of my mother, whom up until then I shared every detail of my life with, I was like anyone else my age. I was experiencing absolute freedom for the very first time and made my share of mistakes and bad decisions. At one point I put such a distance between myself and my parents that we didn’t speak to each other for an entire year. This was mainly due to my stubbornness and immaturity. So estranged was my relationship that when my daughter was born, my parents didn't even meet her until she was six months old. On the day I introduced Candice to them they were eager to see her because they questioned whether or not she was my biological child. I took Candice out of her snowsuit and placed her on the carpeted floor so she could crawl around. The moment my father saw her he bowed his head and chuckled.

“She’s yours that’s for sure.” He said.

(Candice Sewell 6 months old)


I reached for my bag to unpack a video camera I’d brought along. While I did this my mother sat on the other side of the room in her favorite chair and simply said, “Candice, come here.” My mother leaned forward in her seat and reached for her. Candice looked at my mother thought for a moment and then, raised her behind in the air, stood on her feet and for the very first time walked across the floor to my mother giggling. I was both stunned and speechless.

Before long I was saying goodbye to my twenties and hello to my thirties. I wasn’t in a particularly good place in my life at time. I’d tried unsuccessfully to become published, my job was just that, a job and my relationship was on the fatally wounded list. Although everything in my life was in the toilet I never shared any of what I was going through with my mother or father. In fact, I wanted them to believe that everything was perfectly fine.

Then, one weekend, I paid my mother a visit. We stepped into her bedroom and she closed the door and sat at the foot of the bed. I sat down beside her and she tried to get me to open up. I couldn’t and I wouldn’t. I did not want to deal with all of the emotional drama I was going through, nor did I at the age of thirty want to break into tears in front of my mother. So I vaulted my emotions, sucked it up, and told her I was fine. My mother knew me better than I knew myself and looked my directly in the eyes and said.

“You’re not doing what you’re supposed to be doing and you’re not living up to your potential. You’re supposed to be doing something greater.” I immediately became evasive and said.
“Mom. What are you talking about? I have a good job. I don’t drink, do drugs and have never been in jail. I’m a good father and I’m taking care of my child. You’ve never once heard me complain about needing food or clothes for her.” My mother cut me off and met my gaze. She placed her hand on top of mine and simply said.

“But you’re not happy.” I tried to keep looking into her eyes to deny the truth but I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to answer that because she was right. I wasn’t happy.

(Katie Sewell Age 42)
I drove back home with Candice who was five at the time and asleep on the seat next too me. So much was on my mind and I literally felt as if my life was one massive fog cloud. When I’d left home years earlier, I thought I knew everything, I thought I had the world by the tail but realized I didn’t know jack shit.

A short time later, my mother passed away unexpectedly from a massive heart attack. Later, I would learn that she’d been informed that she needed to have open heart surgery once again but she refused to have the operation because her chances of survival weren’t all that good. She was only 48 years old when she passed away.

For days after her funeral I could still smell her scent everywhere. Even when I went to work, I could smell her all around me. It was the oddest thing that I’d ever experienced.

Then, one night I went to sleep and my mother came to me in a dream. We were driving along and I could see the sun setting off in the distance. I glanced at her and she smiled at me. I looked in the direction we were going and realized we were headed to the hospital where my brother, Misalo had once been. I was actually excited because I would get a chance to see him once again. We parked the car and got out. I was about to walk towards the hospital when my mother stopped me. She said,
“Can I give you a hug.” I looked at her strangely for a moment as she smiled at me.
“Of course you can,” I answered thinking her question was a silly one.
“I have to warn you first,” she said as I moved toward her.
“Warn me?” I asked puzzled.
“This is going to feel weird.” She said as she embraced me.

I literally leaped up out of my bed and on my feet. I clutched my chest because I felt as if I’d been given a massive shot of adrenaline. I’d never felt anything like it in my life. Every nerve in my body was buzzing and her scent was all around me. I went to the bathroom, ran some water on a towel and when I placed it on my face, I smelled my mother's scent on the towel. I don’t believe ghosts but I looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and spoke to her as if she were standing over my shoulder. I said.

“What was that about?” Something remarkable happened at that moment. I paused and awaited an answer. All of the confusion and fog that was clouding my mind gave way to the writer’s voice inside of me. I heard the voice as clearly as the scream of a siren. I tried to shake off all of the spiritual energy that was surrounding me but I couldn’t do that no more than I could control the weather. I took a few deeps breaths and then just glared at myself in the mirror. Funny shit happens when you really take the time to look into your own eyes. I saw and heard my inner self. The same Being that we all have within us that tells us the truth about ourselves. My Inner Being spoke directly to me and said.

“You have a gift. Follow it with passion and believe in yourself. I will never leave you.” I listened and that night I sat at my computer and wrote the remainder of the night. In fact, for the next few weeks all I could do was write. At times my fingers couldn’t keep up with everything that was pouring out of me. When I finished, I’d written a novel called, Taken For Granted. A novel that would eventually become a bestseller. Ironically, it is also the same novel that my bestselling teen series Keysha's Drama was born out of.

Now, as strange as it may sound, my daughter Candice, who is now sixteen, looks just like my mother did at her age. The resemblance is uncanny.

(Photo below. Katie with Misalo as an infant, Earl Sewell with Candice during author's day at her school. Katie Sewell age 19 and Candice Sewell age 13,
Katie Sewell and Misalo Sewell during hospital visit, Lorraine Studyway my grandmother and Candice Sewell)

Ever since my mother hugged me in a dream that I had eleven years ago, I’ve been following my inner voice and most times I’m totally blown away by some of the stories that have come out of me. There is stuff inside of me that I didn’t even realize was there. And the popularity of my teen series called Keysha’s Drama is difficult for even me to explain. When people ask where I get my story I ideas from, I always say.

“It’s a gift.”