Mr. Joyce Takes on the World

One Year and One After Life             July 26 th 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 6 th 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!”     ...

Plastic Lilacs It rained the night before my mother’s funeral. I had both seen and met Lindsey Stirling for the second time that night. That’s another story—one that included a mention of my mother by Sister Stirling, while in concert. She dedicated the song Take Flight to her memory that night, for which I’m greatly touched. I recalled that it rained the previous time I saw Lindsey. But this time I was escorted by the first of many viceroy butterflies. They would follow me for the rest of the summer—whether in America, or across the pond. They seemed to guide and comfort me. I’ve written about them before, yet they continue to mystify me.              Melanie, a friend from university, came to pick me up that morning. She had one of her children with her—the youngest boy, about a year old. He looked at me, as we sat in the funeral home parking lot. I had been all nerves on the way over, and now young Segin was onl...

My Mother's Passing (Part One) The first scare I had concerning my mother was about two years ago. That was when I found her slumped behind the steering wheel of her car, as she tried to catch her breath. She refused treatment, but was eventually taken to hospital the next day. She fought like hell with the doctor and nurses. Mom was discharged early then, because she refused all treatment; including a much needed heart catheterization. We don't know why she refused it. Myself and my sisters got on her case about it, but to no avail. She was diagnosed with COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disorder) and sent home. With her in tow was various medications, and an oxygen machine. I likened it to the life support systems in sci-fi movies; as it took carbon dioxide from the air, and made it into breathable oxygen. I set up a list of medications, and what times to administer them. I also keep a close eye on her, to make sure she didn't smoke again. This was in Febr...