In the following story, the names of clients have been changed.
Lena Davenport wants to talk her father, but can’t by any conventional means. Mel died in 2005 after a three-month hospitalization following a stroke. He was 57.
In a small office above a Charles Town coffee shop, Davenport sits in a desk chair facing Donna Joy, a medium who will attempt to facilitate a conversation between father and daughter. Joy sits cross-legged on a foldout couch covered with a pink silky quilt (“Wal-Mart,” says Joy). Other than the couch, the office looks like any garden-variety place of business furnished on a budget. Joy, in a simple white short-sleeved top and cotton skirt, could be taken for the owner of any shop on Washington or German streets.
Joy, eyes closed, describes the scene she sees: a hospital room, a strong young man (“my brother,” says Davenport ); the absence of her mother in the scene (her parents had divorced more than 20 years earlier, Davenport  confirms); the father having difficulty speaking (“he couldn’t talk after the stroke,” Davenport  offers). It’s all very matter-of-fact, and so far the scene Joy describes matches the one the family endured two years ago.
Joy listens intently. Listening is actually a loose description of what she does. According to Joy, it’s not actual words she is hearing. Rather she is interpreting scenes and tapping into connected energy between herself and the other person. Finally, Joy begins to convey what she hears from the man on the other side.
Bowling in Thurmont
Another day. A young man, Edwin, sits across from Joy. Within moments a riveting conversation ensues between Edwin and his father (as interpreted by Joy). The father died some 18 years ago from a gunshot wound. He admits to his son that he had abused him sexually and begs forgiveness. Then he tells Edwin that he had had an extra-marital relationship with a neighbor that resulted in the birth of another son—a boy Edwin knows. He had never admitted this to anyone.
The father reveals that he had been sexually abused by his own mother. This is a revelation never made before to anyone.
After Edwin’s mother (the deceased man’s wife) enters the room, the conversation continues. She asks whether he had committed suicide or whether there had been foul play involved. The anguish and shame on Joy’s face is unmistakable. “He says he did it himself, that he was drunk and stupid. He is turning away, ashamed.”
Then, “he wants to know if you remember bowling,” says Joy. Edwin had been just a boy when his father died. “No, I remember other things we did; other fun things. But not bowling.”
Edwin’s mother chimes in. “He would take you bowling in Thurmont. You loved it. You both did.”
This revelation takes the conversation back to Edwin and his father, remembering happier times. Joy’s face lights up as she mediates. There is laughter all around. There is talk about how proud the father is of Edwin, himself a father now. The conversation resembles a family reunion carried on via telegraph; it’s a slow exchange, but a real family chat.
It ends sweetly. Father sends his hugs and is gone.
Afterward, there are tears. More hugs. Edwin and his mother express heartfelt gratitude. There is a sense of peace and healing Edwin says he has never known. “I’m so glad we found you,” his mother says. “It’s helped the healing.”
Walk in the Park
Talking with Joy’s clients, healing is a common theme. This is particularly true when a person has died suddenly or at a young age. Such is the case with Mary Lamb of Charles Town. In 1993, her friend had died tragically in Afghanistan while working as a foreign correspondent. “My best friend,” said Lamb. “I’ve never felt grief like that. It left too much unsaid.”
Joy mediated a conversation between the two. “It was a rough beginning,” said Lamb. “Too many things didn’t make sense at first; I wasn’t sure she was talking to the right person.” Then, Joy suggested that Lamb ask the questions to sharpen the focus, and a conversation began that was like former college roommates on the telephone.
“It was an exchange between two best friends,” Lamb said. “Absolutely.” Lamb said that Joy would bring things up, just as an old friend would, then Lamb would reply. When Lamb told her friend how much she has missed her, the response surprised her.
“She says she’s with you all the time,” replied Joy. Then Joy couldn’t help but ask: “Where? Where are you with her all the time?”
“In the park,” the friend replied, according to Joy. “She’s with you when you take your walks in the park.”
Lamb walks often in the park near her home. It’s her place to clear her mind, pray, and meditate. It’s also the place where she goes when she wants to think about and speak with her friend. Now she had reassurance that her friend was there with her. It was an incredible, uplifting moment. Asked whether she would go back to continue these conversations, Lamb said now she doesn’t need to. She’s said what she wanted to say.
“Just knowing that she hears me is pretty good,” said Lamb.
How does Lamb explain it? “I don’t know. There are people with extra sensory gifts who can see more than others,” she said. “I think it helps to be open minded. Joy and her clients concur. It helps to believe.
Lena  Davenport  had been a skeptic. Her session ended unsatisfactorily for both her and Joy, never really getting out of the box. Although Joy told her many things which she said came from her father, Davenport  never felt connected. “He wouldn’t say that,” was Davenport ’s common response to the things Joy was telling her.
 “Sometime they say things they’ve never told you before,” says Joy. But Davenport  insisted none of it made sense within the context of her relationship with her father.
The session became a kind of battle of wills before it fizzled and ended. Joy does not even charge for the session. On the drive home, though, Davenport  reveals information on several topics that aligns with what Joy had told her. Perhaps there might have been more to the conversation than she thought.
Do Drop In
It’s hard not to ask: How is that these people “on the other side”  appear astonishingly available, nearby, and willing to stop in for a chat? It’s one thing to see an apparition atop a staircase in a historic B&B, or to get a random visit at the foot of your bed one night. Somehow, though it’s hard to grasp that someone could walk in, ask to speak to Uncle Nick, and lo and behold he just happens to be in the neighborhood. But that’s what Joy’s clients claim.
“I can’t explain it,” said Joy. “Sometimes they’re right there, almost immediately. Sometimes it takes a little time.” And it’s not as if the person walks in and starts a conversation. She is not channeling, she explains. “The person is not suddenly talking through me. I see scenes and try to make sense of them. The person is not necessarily saying the exact words I say; I’m interpreting.”
And the person on this side doesn’t necessarily have to be in the room. Joy also works by phone. She says the phone sessions are often more revealing; she is less self-conscious then, as is the client.
Joy, who grew up in a rough neighborhood of Baltimore’s inner city, has always known she was different, that she had a gift. Her brother died at the age of 18 months, but, says, Joy, they still shared a bedroom. She was always aware of his presence. At a young age, she would meet people and immediately be able to tell them something about themselves. Members of her church, thinking she was processed by the devil, tried to heal her. She was ostracized by friends and family. Not until she was an adult did she learn about other gifted people. She embarked on years-long odyssey to become a shaman, or healer.
Why to people come to her? Ultimately, Joy said, most people who want to communicate with a loved one come solely for the connection with someone they dearly miss. As anyone who has ever lost someone knows, even after many years the connection can be so strong. Others come to Joy because there is some unresolved matter between the client and the deceased, whether it’s conflict in need of resolution or proper goodbyes that time did not allow.
But this is only one aspect of her practice, called Heart Centered Healing. Her work encompasses Reiki, hypnotherapy, dream interpretations, and other spirit-focused assistance—some with such practical aims like career coaching. People come to her seeking help with chronic illness, attention deficit disorder, addictions, anxiety, depression, learning disabilities, relationship issues, and other life stresses
Angels in America
Depending on which poll you read, anywhere from 80 to 90 percent of Americans believe in an afterlife. About 80 percent believe in angelic visits to earth by the departed. And yet skepticism is often the first reaction to the idea of visiting a medium.
Said one of Joy’s customers, “I believe in God; I believe in an afterlife. There isn’t much of a leap between believing in an omniscient being and believing people can be with us even in death.” According to Joy, a portion of her business comes from referrals by clergy or licensed psychologists.
Ask a room full of people about meeting with a medium and the response is predictable. First come the raised eyebrows and smiles, then someone hums the Twilight Zone theme. But ask that same group for a volunteer who would like to communicate with a deceased loved one and nearly every hand goes up. Then the stories flow about visits from grandparents who passed long ago or occasional insights from parents who have gone.
Whatever goes on above the shop on Washington Street, it seems only fitting that take place above a coffee shop, so natural are the routine rituals of the morning cuppa and our longing for love’s permanence.
One aside: On one visit to Joy’s office, I mentioned that I had misplaced a contact list of clients she had given me to interview. Anticipating the moment, before I could finish my sentence, she handed over a fresh copy: “I knew that…”
Donna Joy’s practice, Heart Centered Healing, is located in Charlestown. For information: (304) 279-9838 or Heart-CenteredHealing.com.