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!”     ...

Yesterday             “I’m too aggressive.” My mother said. “She won’t come out for me.”             “Let me give it a try.” I said.             It was May of 2005, and my mother had just brought home our new cat. She came in a vented box, which was designed to look like a house with a red-shingled roof. On the side was written I’m going home. Yet, I hadn’t seen the occupant of the box. She was in hiding under a bed we had in a spare room. Mom had brought her home while I was at work, and so I wouldn’t be able to see her until that evening. My mother had informed me that, “She looks like Oscar the Grouch.” To which I replied, “You didn’t bring home a Muppet, did you? She doesn’t have green fur, does she?” Thankfully, she did not. I was twenty-five years old at the time, and couldn’t resist getting it on it video....

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...