One decade ago, I missed an eerie phone call from Mom who was in the hospital fighting cancer. Her voice message urged me that it was time to get up… time to wake up… time for us to be awake. Hours later, my mom, Joyce Elaine Ross, had died while sleeping.


I made a promise to unearth and preserve each of her diaries, sketchpads, sticky notes, oil canvas and watercolor paintings, short stories, and poetry files. Moreover, I vowed to publish her creative work just as she fancied since an eight-year-old girl.


Mom envisioned her unique experiences, as a black American daughter, sister, wife, mother, professional therapist, a cancer patient, and writer, would someday serve to inspire individuals, strengthen families, and unify dissimilar cultures.


While I am ecstatic to finally share ReJoyce, this world is abundant with like-minded storytellers who dream and struggle to speak freely, crave to improve universal human conditions and beg to be heard. For those artists, my fight begins… tomorrow. Today, I shall ReJoyce!


Mom, at long last, we are awake.

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