As I sit reflecting on my dear friend Joyce, I am filled with memories of her vibrant, adventurous spirit and the bond we shared. Joyce lived just down the street from us on Harton Road. We attended the same church but went to different schools. Our families became close when my mother and hers arranged for carpooling after I started at Rosary High School, where Joyce was already a student.

    Joyce was a couple of years older than me, and our carpool rides marked the beginning of countless adventures. My dad would drop us off at school, and someone else would pick us up later. We’d head to Nazareth House, where my younger siblings stayed. Even as life moved forward and our kids grew up, Joyce and I always found laughter and joy in the simplest moments.

    Joyce had a way of bringing light even in dark times. I remember when she became ill—tainted blood left her HIV-positive. It took her two years to tell me. I’ll never forget that day at the Oakwood in Pacific Beach. We sat in the car, and she said, “I don’t know how you’re going to handle this, but I have something to tell you.”

    I had no idea what was coming, but she told me about her diagnosis. She feared I would turn away, but that thought never crossed my mind. “I’m still your friend,” I told her. “I’ll always be here for you.” I don’t know why she doubted that, but I hope I gave her some comfort in that moment.

    Some of my favorite memories with Joyce are from our later years. One Mother’s Day, when Joyce was getting sicker, I asked my kids to spend the day with her. They adored their Aunt Joyce, especially Patricia, who called her Nina. That weekend, we decided to go on one of our famous adventures. After indulging in a little cannabis, Joyce, her son Billy, and I craved Krispy Kreme donuts. Without a second thought, we grabbed our wallets and took off—no phones, no purses, and we didn’t even lock the house.

    While we were out, Joyce’s daughter Amber came home, saw the unlocked house and everything left behind, and panicked. She assumed we’d rushed to the doctor and couldn’t reach us, so she called her uncle, a police officer. By the time we returned—with donuts in hand—Amber was ready to put out a missing persons report. She gave us the tongue-lashing of a lifetime for not leaving any information. We couldn’t stop laughing, even as she scolded us. That was Joyce—always at the center of chaos, yet full of life.

    Another cherished moment was at a baby shower in Vacaville. We were in the garage when Joyce spotted Patricia’s Barbie car. Without hesitation, she climbed in and drove it around, laughing like a child. I have pictures of her perfectly fitting into that tiny car, her infectious joy lighting up the room.

    Joyce was more than a friend—she was family. Our kids grew up calling each other aunts and uncles, bound by the love our families shared. She was taken far too soon, but her spirit, her laughter, and her love live on in all of us.

Until we meet again, my dear friend Joyce, you will forever hold a place in my heart.

Paula Roybal