Dearest; Joan Lilly New-belt

Dearest Joan Lilly New-belt;

Good day,

Mrs New-belt you will not know me. I am struggling with my wording, feeling some insecurities atm (at the moment). I am sure, I will try to do my best. Hoping, that within what I state that you can acknowledge this letter. In return of you being intrigued enough to want to get to know me.

I sit in this very moment in a small log cabin. The small apartment sized cedar smelling, cozy and isolated and enduringly one of kind two window paned cabin has one access door. The cabin is an open spaced floor plan with only one other room that contains the toilet, sink and small standing shower. The bedding is something out of the early 90's type of style with dark burgundy bedding and old school paintings that has a countertop with a single line three cupboards above and a hotplate to use at your own dispense. The cabin contains both heating sources of use of electricity and wood stove to bring all the amenities of basic needs of survival. Basically what I like to call roughing it. The resort I'm at is located north east of Prince George, BC. The place is called Powder King, the resort is actually called Powder King as well. I'm not sure if you are familiar with it, hence why I am providing you with a visual, what it's like in this moment; as I am writing this letter to you. I want you to see how it is living my life, and trying to enhance something within you that will help you better see. This place is a snowboarder, and skier's dream, really anyone who loves the slopes and the adrenaline of winter sports. The fluffy white mass of fresh snowflakes come every winter, with miles of piles of snow along the highway and rocky mountainous vibes. Sometimes the piles of snow even exceed the height of a large stop sign. Crazy, right?! Coming from the north I am sure you know what it's like living up there and around here. I have never lived past Fort Nelson. That's the farthest I have ever lived, I always wondered what it's like going up north.

I know your address says Whitehorse and it's a long ways from where I am living. You're probably wondering why such a stranger would even be writing you, or even telling you these things?!. I know I would be wondering who the heck this person is! Ever so strange, mahhh.

If you have never been past FSJ (Fort St John, BC) or have ever had time to stop, going south bound. This place is must stop, to see or even eat within the main lodge, because the food is good! This place is a little gem! It's a great time! This small busy mountain with a ski-lift and many awesome slopes and out of this world beauty out of a cottage magazine, is my oasis.. and moms get away has no cell service. Along the Pine Pass (Hwy 97) in Northern British Columbia, it's not a place you would ever think to be you destination. It is truly awesome. I come here three times per winter and stay in this facility, with my family as a winter escape. My mom calls it a vacation. lol. In my family there are three of us. My step sister and my mom, not forgetting to include me. We like meeting other snow lovers alike, there isn't any real way to enjoy the winter besides surfing the snow! My family has gone up the hill for their first ski of the day. Its 11:11 a.m. I just threw another log into the chamber of the wood stove, preheating myself some water for a hot chocolate.

I had troubles with my laptop and it frustrated me, because I have all these thoughts I want to write. I want to spit it across the paper so fast. But I don't want to leave any of my true feelings, as it's freshly on my mind. Of course I had issues with my laptop and had to reboot the thing, so I can use it properly without delay of what is on my minds memory. When I say "My family" I mean it as in being my biological "mom" Debra and my step sister Jillian Joy "JJ" for short. It's always been just the three of us, and we travel whenever we get the chance, not during in school semesters of course. I live a nomadic lifestyle and have attended a lot of different schools, usually one each year. My mom's job is pretty busy and important. We are used it, and became accustomed to it when my mom changed her life around. I will do anything to support her. She's been through a lot. I read a lot and the best thing I love reading into and researching are war stories and life alike what it is to be a soldier. I think I want to become one! I see my life like what they call "an army brat" which is a child who lives a nomadic lifestyle based on locations of their parent/s deployment.

I am 15 years old, living somewhat normal life of a child of an indigenous single widowed mother. (I don't understand why she never remarried). She is pretty, she is smart, and she is independent. She has taken a lot of life's challenges and has her own past like most people do. She took the bull by the horns and changed her life around 4 years after the death of her husband (my Dad). She took it upon herself to become more educated and began applying her experience's, to her love of being a humanitarian. Her job is like something of interconnection between her past and the present to help others, this requires her to be fully living in areas where she can be utilised to help heal others with developing programs, giving an ear, and being a voice mostly for others. She does a based on community needs, she gains the respect of others right away. She works alongside First Nations bands and urban aboriginals in the general public, even those who live off reserve. Her ultimate goal is to bridge the gap, for on and off reserve residents. To teach by sharing her personal past to help and support teachable and sometimes very personal lessons using one one one coaching within the community and the communities choice needs. To go about sparking members in making healthier choices.

I guess I should of really introduced myself first and foremost, my name is Constance Lily Wellstone. :D

I was born September 5, 2005. in Fort St John, BC. My father is Dwight Wellstone. He was a pipeline labourer who had passed away in a work related incident. In January 2005. I always forget the day of death. W.C.B "Workers Compensation Board" still continues to help my mom to this day. His fellow co-worker; Tim. is what you call a lifer. He has always been around since I can remember. Tim also pitches in whenever by catering to my sister and I as mom has to leave home, from time to time. During her road skits, her goals are to help bring funding to heavily hit places. That requires an outside point of view. She is very passionate about her job. "Uncle Tim" helps watch over us when she is away. I have never met such respectful and loyal man as good as him. He stems from dads past and still helps out to this very day! Heck I think we are to meet up with him in a few days, come to think of it. He is one funny guy, he held us up for many years, in many ways! Especially during my mother and sisters grief, it was bad enough my older sister had lost her mom. I'm not sure if to death or adoption. I've never asked.

When it comes to the oil field, I've had friends, whose parents worked the pipeline. They never really get that chance to have their parent/s when they needed them most. I felt for them, but it's like any other job for a working family. You have to learn to grow up quickly. Otherwise no one will eat or have a home or vehicle to drive. However that type of work, the patch; it's another type of life, because at the end of the day; my mom comes home to me, after 5 pm. I get to see her.

Uncle Tim, he did work the patch with my dad in the past. He says it wasn't always his choice of work, but he had fell for the money that helped him live more of a comfortable lifestyle. He had published a book back in 2008 called "life of a pipeliner". This book written and published, and he even edited all by himself. Super proud of him and his accomplishments thus far. He said he wasn't going to talk about the long hours and many days and years. It took him to come up perfectly what he wanted others to see. That book only took him three years to create. Since then he works and offer services to top named oilfield companies and many safety outlets. Uncle Tim single handedly created this book, while grieving the loss of his best friend.

Tim works as an instructor and safety consultant for his own what he says is his life purpose. he still from time to time makes other income on the side. Going back into the field just to keep his safety senses and establishing with the top companies to create a foolproof data based safety practices to consider and actively implemented in daily practices within that field of work. Being said this had made life more easier on his home schedule. He gets to chose his own hours and take time off when he needs and wants to. But he still ends up staying behind; helping out these companies and living life in camp.

In my eyes, the worst thing a married man who works in the patch, can go through is always being away from home. It's very similar and relatable to stories of the wars I read about.

When it comes to uncle Tim (not really my uncle, but close enough). He always had, on and off again girlfriends. He got married not ONCE but THREE times. I've watched him go through a couple divorces and he says and acts like he's not hurt. But you can tell he's sad and wants companionship. I tease him and tell him that "him and mom should date", but they both say it would never work. "oh, well"... Anyways he has such a hard time keeping a wife. I feel for him.

Must be because he's always gone away to teach others and work with others to bring about his passion to tell about the importance of working safely. I think uncle Tim is married to the pipeline!

I was only just conceived within mom's uterus, when the accident happened with dad. He never got the chance to be told that I was on the way. So I don't really feel sad about not knowing him, and besides we always had uncle Tim. Mom does this thing where she aims her indirect parental discipline infused tongue lashings by using dad in third person/ To prove a point, and trying to get me to view in her ways, to what she thinks is a threat, lol. or what's supposed to smarten me up. Telling me stories about his character. always before she puts in her two cents. He to me as a person, was different than what I had envisioned. Her stories of what it would be like for me, if he were still alive.. "I am somewhat insecure about my looks" and don't always listen, or follow by her rules. I'm a typical teenage girl.

Mom tells me things like; "if he were still alive" or "If your dad was here" or "heard this" "He would" to try and keep me in line and get me to behave in her liking, not being disobedient to her creative parenting skills, but most of my misbehaving is usually self directed because of my face.

What do I say? I'm a teenage girl, who wished to desperately to be of the popular crowd and since I could remember being teased about my stupid face. I have lived with these deformities on my face all of my life. I have a name for it, my stupid birthmark. I have a tendency to call it "bashful".

Have you ever watched Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, well there is one that gets right bright red! turning his head away when ever he feels shy, well that's how I feel permanently.

When it comes to my insecurities; humour is how I deal with my life stressors. I tend to try and be funny about it. I DO NOT; hide my deformities, or tell myself pretty little lies. I am not mad or upset about it, I do sometimes get down on myself about it though. Mom tries to make me feel better with some of her nice little quotes or instructional cues. However they don't always work, that's when the two parent type of imaginative teaching moments arise, usually when this happens. She will use what I'm going through to help me, self regulate my own emotions by her taught techniques to help guide me back to acceptance of myself. Other times I like to tease and taunt her back, so she can see that she has nothing to worry about me.

Mom will bring dad, into the conversations. I swear its her last resort as she don't know how to handle it. So I can recognise that moment arising, we talk about how it would play out if I talked back to dad!.... She would sometimes end the conversation with, "where on earth did you learn that from?".

We have lots of videos and pictures saved of my dad. Sometimes it feels good and has helped me get to know him a little bit better. I get better after each time, as I would of loved to see him earthly form, when he was alive. I hear that you knew my dad? Is it true? My mom doesn't tell me anything about dads life before her. I only know my sister who came before me, and I don't know anything about her life before my birth. We just get told to love each other even though sometimes we fight and argue. Typical sibling rivalry.

"I am not so sure if you may know my mom?" but I feel like there is something being hidden from me. Certain things I am blind to. It was like she knew about you, but doesn't want to tell me anything.......

It wasn't too hard to find you! She had showed me pictures of my dad when he was young, I mean like teenager young.. I noticed the picture of you because I seen you many times in my dreams.. Shows here that you live in Anchorage, Alaska! by the ocean? For some odd reason, the place of address is Whitehorse, Yukon!? See sense makes not.....

I chill a lot in my bedroom, usually always alone either delved deep into a novel or writing in my journal and practising my cleverness to play the next trick on my mom and my sister..

Whenever I feel sad or needing comfort I pull out the DVD's and photo albums of dad and go through them. Every time I find something new....

Even when I'm happy I do this too, I know its repetitive. I just love daydreaming about knowing him and fantasise about his earthly body being here with us, I always wonder where life would be and what kind of lifestyle we would of had, if he was still alive.

I love the nice quite rainy days just being able to relax in my room, or chilling with my family watching movies together and eating nothing but junk food. We bring our pillow top mattresses out and put them in the living room making one big bed, those nights we all sleep in the living room. Best experience ever!

I love eating buttery popcorn... the greasiness of the butter on my lips and saltiness and pure core blissful endrenged sweats for days usually all three of us wearing one of dads tee shirts, until mom made it a thing to wear buttoned up fancy flannel pj's that leave me feeling like Hue Heffner, lmao. "Where are my bunnies" hahahaha.

During some weekends, we will keep it like that the whole weekend... or even through the Christmas holidays, sporting the next best hueys I got! This helps us all together and is our able time to have open conversations about things throughout the week, talking about things that were the best and what was the worst. After we lay belly's full of junk and totally vegged watching movies with mom and sissy. Sometimes we do this well into wee morning hours and sometimes past noon. Either way I love it. Mom has quite the collections saved of him. Everything from his writing, to art projects, pictures and videos so we never lose sight of him. Mom got burnt a lot of things that can be from videos to pictures that she had collected throughout the years and being creative as she is implementing them in way that goes in sympathetic way to have his presence be known at each of our growing milestones. She has them burnt onto DVD's, specifically aimed towards our personalized message, so we know we are not alone. A lot of these, have been watched so tirelessly that she began to mash ups with her own footage of pictures and videos of us to recall our moments in life, my mom ceases to amaze me. I get to see how he was visually, and this also confirmed his presence when he showed himself to me in broad daylight, and not in a dream.

When I was little I always had a very close bond with the afterlife. It was extremely frightening at times, but when I got to meet my dad. All those feelings went away. He played with me, as a toddler; in meaning he watched me play alone and talked with me as if he were there in real form. But no one else could see, only me. Was this a curse or blessing? Hard to say I know it helped make me into who I am today, for that I am grateful. I got to see him, not able to hug him or touch him as he's a spirit. Sounds crazy right? I didn't know what crazy meant until later in life.

"In reality Crazy to me is courageous to be so authentic, something a lot of people don't have the guts to be, in my opinion."nowadays

Mom also made it important and imminent for us knowing, and teaching us girls about our tribe, she would tell me tales and stories about our culture, spirituality and how some people are born with gifts. I know a lot about my heritage and bloodline of where I come from and I always knew I was special.

When I was little I would play in my room alone, my uncle Tim would catch me talking to someone who wasn't there. My mom had trouble with getting me to be silent about my so called gifts.

It was so apparent that my preschool teacher wasn't there to be open minded, or to be considerate of what it could of caused for our family. The new by the book female teacher had talked my mom into my being seen by a mental health worker. Social Services ended up getting called because some of my experiences, I guess my stories weren't of revelation to a healthy home. Not knowing it was an issue, it truly hurt me in the end. I guess some of the things I said was not normal "what ever normal is" and that a child my age shouldn't know about these types of certain things.

They weren't of bitterness of anyone I knew, it came from the other kind.

They stemmed from the ones who passed on and were in anger and a lot of the time in dismay and more than often true sadness the kind that could take your heart and rip it out "I think it only made me smarter". and way more braver than my sister, she screams watching scary movies and I find them entertaining.

I was taken to Dr's. and to therapists and to the local mental health clinic, seen specialists, etc. etc. (blah blah blah) My mother was suggested to go by some dictatorial Journal writing of my daily activities. A psychologist and therapist who actually gave a damn about me and my family, I guess to try observing my behaviour and examine my imagination to see if I was all there? lol. So mom would journal my "so called episodes", we also tried creative play therapy; processing through play, and the Doc said that I was a normal child. The MCFD closed their file and the teacher caused more chaos for us, than we even deserved. It brought on a fear for us, and more so my mom. She went to day school? I guess it's the same as Residential School, both equally being just as bad. I couldn't imagine going through that. Can you?

What the preschool teacher thought was an unhealthy coping mechanism from not having a dad, was then shook to see that I was normal. To me making up a make belief story that she thought was a cause for concern. Turned out to become an uprooting experience for us children, leaving our traditional territory behind. I was very young and it wasn't much of a problem because by now I'm used to it. My Mom already had lots of stress on her shoulders raising my sis and I alone; and now she had to worry about me?!

My sis is older than I am. She "thinks" she got to know dad better than I did. That's only because I never got to see his earthly form. My mom discovered, and learned through out her search; what was really going on with me. She was worried I guess about something of what she says is a multitude of things?! I dunno, to me I think she knows I'm healthy she just wanted to prove others wrong.

I didn't have any real compact knowledge about my gifts until I was 7 years old. In my early tween with the help of great aunt Lesley, and my grandmother Freda, both being on moms side of the family. They both are very sweet and charismatic, they had me for a full week. Mom said it was important that I was with them, as she said that they were going to give me an Indian name and do an initiation, its kind of like catholic, or Jewish, where they at a certain age give you something for a turning of a certain age, for me it was when I was 8. They took me to an old dude they called a Shaman; the Shaman and my great aunt Lesley and nanna would talk evenings together drinking tea and I was to go to bed, so I did. I stayed with at and never understood what it is they talked about or knew about me but they ended taking me somewhere around Sikanni, they took me to a place where ceremonies take place for what they call a ceremonial welcoming, and they did the ceremony. I got to meet a lot of family I didn't know I had. It was one just for me! they told my mom that I had psychic abilities and strong senses that give me access, to talk with the dead.

Mom was shocked and it only made sense that as a child playing alone in her room, wasn't about me and all these so called unhealthy habits.

I was actually playing with dad.

He spent a lot of time teaching me about love, acceptance, being strong and being able to defend my self telling me jokes, ending his spiritual visits with "help" "love" "hug" your mamma for me.

We all some day must make and take the journey home in the afterlife. I still really don't understand why we must all have to make one, some day?! But that isn't the point of my letter!

I was born with a birth mark on my face! To the world its big and its ugly, and sometimes I get asked lots of questions about it or teased and called names that hurt me. I got tired of telling people what it is. I keep wanting to scream writing and rewriting my letter to you, over and over again; with fears of being denied and rejected as stalker or someone who is trying to hurt or harm you. I promise you that is not my intention.

I think in my head how can I tell her in a way that only her soul and heart will know that we once shared a very close bond. How can I tell her that I spent the last three years trying to find her! Its a good thing for google and news paper ads, and my mom! Remembering certain aspects of my life I used to have with you, and your husband Jerry, that I recalled through dreaming.

Discovering and learning to keep track of my lucid nightmares and sometimes really funny, good memorable dreams that induced tastes and smells of certain foods upon awakening; and I feel aches and pains with sorrows of great grief and loss, that I feel in the pit of my stomach. I cry and tell mom about these dreams and memories. It wasn't too long after that we needed to tell you; how, you need to know what it is, that i'm about to spill on you. I pray, that you can keep an open mind; for what it is, that I'm about to tell you! Mom thinks this is the only way for me to stop having the nightmares!

So here goes nothing.

Mrs New-belt.

" I am reborn"! U are my mom! In my old life, my father is the same father shared with your daughter who passed away. me; March 7, 2005. There I said it.

I hope your still with me to this point! Because I gave up the morning ski just to tell this story and needed time alone to do so. My birth mark I mentioned earlier has a part in this reveal to talk to you about the day I passed away. and I feel the need to tell you things that only you and I shared together. Its really ironic that the time, day, place, and year also play apart of my existence in my last life and my new life now.

If your crying please know that I also have another surprise for you that I want to share with you at the end! It's my little families secret we've been putting off for the past six months, because we don't want to bring about a shock and have all this go down and become a disaster. I wish to be called by you when you receive this letter. please again apologise about this weird letter because of my lack of explanations or my way to my wording if you not able to acknowledge this letter and see my gifts and my abilities aren't here to harm you. Hopefully not scare you away either!

"It was March 7, 2005 when I died at the age of 7". We were driving from Whitehorse to Fort Nelson, BC. You picked me up from school and said today we had to leave to Fort Nelson. It was urgent! You were mad and crying from what I remember. I couldn't understand why we left Dad behind. You gave me a snack shortly after picking me up from school. It was a "Bologna, cheese Sandwich", with the crusts cut off and I recall it being white bread, my favourite (Wonder bread) Still my fav! Poppa Gill and mama Keisha were talking to you on your cell phone, you got more upset and said something bad, and then hung up the phone. It was Snowing lots, it was cold and dark out. The roads were filled with snow and it looked icy like a icicle. There was no vehicles in site, just you and me, open roads to what felt like bedtime. by the time we got out and gassed up of town, a gas station.

You filled the tank?! which was always dads job.

You started to drive down the highway again, I wanted to grab my favourite teddy, I got up and you got startled. making the cars rear end swerve left to right, fish tailing the icy roads. You yelled at me to put my seat belt on! You had forgotten to put it on me. I tried so fast and so hard but I was having a hard time doing it. You pulled over to the side of the road. You stopped fully where you got out of the drivers side seat and opened my door. You picked me up crying and holding me telling me how sorry you were, I cried to because mommy never yells at me. or forgets to put my seat belt on or ever goes anywhere without dad! Life before that day was like heaven, every child's dream.

I got the best of toys, best food, best cuddles, best clothes, and had lots of friends!

You hugged me and asked me if I was OK, if I was hurt or sad, repeating "I'm sorry". You held me for what felt like a whole night, I fell asleep after you calmed me and put me back in my car seat or booster seat of some kind, you had placed a pillow on my door side window and placed a blankie "pink one with polka-dots" on me, you then put on a movie for me. I was dazing in and out of sleep when you crawled up front to the driver seat, got all comfortable adjusting your seat and steering wheel, buckling up your seat belt; when you got a second call from Dad. Who we left back in Whitehorse. I couldn't understand why everything was so suddenly horrible and scary and frightening when it finally happened! The next moments were the worst of my life, all I seen was bright lights. Hearing your scream was the worst!

I'm guessing that's when I died as I recall seeing red and my head hurting so badly. Life seemed so peaceful in that very moment, and all was at ease, no more pain, no more aches, just pure warm bliss. and comfort. As i dozed off in that realm, I felt a jolt.

That's when I woke up and you were gone, and I was no longer me. "I was a BABY AGAIN"?! No way! then everything went black and the next memories I have are playing as a toddler. and feeling the love from my mamma.

I don't recall anything else after that until, my repetitive dreams, memories of the numerous appointments, Social services, and explanations of learning about my gifts took place and finally everything flooded back to me at the age of 7! WEIRD, right.

Mom always told me that birthmarks gives you an idea of your past life and ways you might of died. They call it being "reborn" I now believe that I died of head trauma. As we got hit by a semi-truck, how you lived is beyond me. But it must be true, I had to of been REBORN. There isn't any other explanation?!

This must be you because I researched you, I also had help from Dad, who played with me as a young child, even though he had already been deceased for some time. I finally see that now this is a sacrifice of love, I am sacrificing my story in hopes to find out about you, to want to meet you, to ask you questions about me. I want to hug you again, and see where this leads.

I want to apologise if my re-captions of that night is too vivid, or hurtful.

It probably is a huge shock for you and I await with patience, and understand if you are reluctant into wanting to know me.

I will tell you another memory about my birth from mamma that will help you understand, more of my life. The relation between lives and the significance of why it had to be my dad, your daughters dad being the same as my dad. Super unlikely but legitimately as he tells me. Saying your ready to know his side too. I don't quite understand what that is supposed to mean?. Hopefully you will be able to tell me?

My surprise for you is this,

I hand delivered this letter straight to you mail box on your front door.

I will be back at once if you choose to call me. I will know you will want to meet me, and my sissy. If and when you open your home up for us to come in. I will give it sometime and think thoroughly on what your choices are, but if you want to reach out here is my cell phone #546-7582-5636.

(Little did Constance know that she was dreaming about JJ's experience, the death she dreamt of was not her but of JJ losing her mom as she suffered from amnesia. She lived in a care home in Whitehorse and that she was taken by Debra who then raised her with the biological father. Not to mention his little time he got to spend with her! This family vacation was to take the girls up to Whitehorse which was their dads only request from the afterlife, she suffered the dreams so frequently because Debra was so busy with life that she was forgetting to take care of her daughters. Her scars she had are a reminder of the past to Constance' mom to do with her life as if he were still here, hence why she stayed faithful to him and her only quest in life was to make other lives better until she meets with her husband in the afterlife. Life is weird! Both Debra and JJ broke the news to Constance five minutes after JJ's mom called, and cried asking for JJ. It hit Constance hard just thinking about the sacrifices her mom made, ensuring her raising and JJ's! Why did JJ never tell Constance about anything, I mean she was 7 years older and she knew what all took place, but this must have been hard on her and it shows that we never know much about life and why people keep secrets. Without this one, no one would of been able to keep to their promises even after losing our loved ones after we lose them)