One Year and One After Life



One Year and One After Life
            July 26th marks one year since the death of my mother. It feels like it just happened ten minutes ago.

            I don’t have any big celebrations planned, or any sort of memorial. Truth be told, I’m so busy with living now that I haven’t had the chance to process it. So, instead, I’m going to concentrate on where I’m at now in life.

            I can’t believe I’m 38 years old. June 6th was my first birthday without my mother. It’s also the second time I flew back from England, and she wasn’t there to ask me, “How was it? Did you meet the Queen? Is Duchess Kate just as pretty in real life?”

            The answers would be, “Extraordinary. No, I haven’t. You know she is!”

            Well, I haven’t met the Duchess either, but I think it’s a safe bet that she is just as stunning in real life.

            She would also ask, “How was the weather? How was the tea? Did you have a long flight?”

            “It rained for a little bit, but not much. No humidity or heat. The tea was amazing, as always. It was about nine hours, not bad.”

            She would ask, “When does school start?”

            “The end of August.” I’d answer.

            “Are you working part-time, or full-time?”

            “Full-time.” I’d say.
           

            My relationship with my mother wasn’t perfect. That’s just how things were with her. She was a difficult person at times, but she was still my mother. There were times last year when I could feel sad about her, or angry at her. Sometimes, I still have painful memories of her. Other times, I have pleasant memories. There were times when she wasn’t there for me. Then, there were times when she was. She was a complicated woman; one that was neither saint, nor villain. She was someone who had a life that went too fast, and very turbulent. It was always turbulent. Sometimes my mother was at the center of that turbulence, and sometimes she wasn’t. As I learned before, few things are seldom black and white.

            Now, one year after her death, her empty chair still sits next to the door. I survived with the seas around me no less tame, but a little calmer. I’ve been through so much since her death. It seemed like everything that was happening just wouldn’t let up, but eventually, it did. I know that in the future things will become unsettled again, but I want it to be on my own terms, in my own time.

How the hell I’m going to pay for school on my own, and rent, is beyond me. Still, I’m so close to graduating, that I’m not stopping this time. If I do, then I’m stuck in a place where I don’t belong. I always assumed the key was to get educated, and move onto something better. I realize now that is part of it, but not all of it. There’s also making sure that one has a future ahead of them, and to ensure the security of that future. I’m working on that. It’s not easy.

            There is the idea of the soldier fighting an endless war; one that either ends with the hero’s death, or with life returning to a state of peace. There is no surrender. Nor, is turning back an option. One can only move forward, and continue to fight.

            If there’s anything that I know would give my mother some comfort…it would be in knowing that I’m still here after she is gone.  

Stained glass in Bath Abbey. Photo taken by me as well.
Top photo: stained glass in St. Patrick's chapel, Glastonbury. 

To read the story of my mother's passing: Click this link here: My Mother's Passing

           

            Text and photos: Copyright Riley Joyce 2017 

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