Mr. Joyce Takes on the World

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...

The Yew Tree and The Viceroys I expected to have dreams about my mother after she died. While I haven't actually seen her this way, I have had one dream. I dreamed that I had gone to Ireland by boat, in order to plant her ashes into the ground. In this dream I dug a small hole into a field near the sea. With the sound of the waves in the background, I carefully placed her ashes into that hole, and then covered it with dirt. Within a matter of seconds a yew tree stood where her ashes had been buried. It was about as tall as me, and the branches were full, and sprouted berries. I took this as a sign of growth and rebirth. Just as the ancient Celts believed that life with return with every spring, I saw this dream as a similar promise. Currently, my sisters and I are in disagreement on what to do with mother's ashes. She had wanted to be buried, but we couldn't afford it. So, eldest sister suggested either burying them, or placing them in a ma...