My Name Is Joyce...

My name is Joyce, which I was lead to believe was French and meant joyful, but after looking today, it appears it is English AND means Little Lord. Hummmm…I don’t know about this Little Lord business! Do they not realize this royal being is used to being the Queen? Little Lord—no, the Bahama Mama maybe or Tahiti Mimi (most definitely).

If my name were a number, it would be my favorite number 8. Eight is an infinity symbol when you turn it on it’s side. I like that; never ending. My name is connected to my grandmother and even though she isn’t on earth anymore, I still feel her loving me—never ending. If my name were a color, it would have to be a shade of pink. My world is pink. Love pink…didn’t so much when I was younger, but now, the world revolves around pink. My notepad says it is “an attitude”. I believe it.

My name was chosen by my grandmother, which has so much significance in my life, which will unfold as I tell you about my name. Joyce if French and means, well, Joyful. My grandmother chose the name and my mother liked it. Like my name, I was chosen. I heard all my life that my mother carried me in her heart for 9 months, instead of under it like all of my friends. At five, I had no idea what that meant, but I knew I was special.

Not only did my Grandmother help my mother choose my name, but we shared the same birthday. It is not a coincidence, but a layer that added closeness to my grandmother. She would have been 100 this year, and my birthdays are not quite as rich, since she left…but I do have Bailey’s birthday one week before my birthday and Zach’s birthday one day AFTER my birthday.

People usually respond to my name by saying, “My Aunt was named Joyce.” Or, “My great-great-great-great niece was named Joyce.” Great, I think to myself, old women and dead women. You don’t hear about new births being named Joyce.