I miss you every day

 Gloria Amelia Superville May 05, 1947 – August 07, 2010 “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my Spirit rejoices in God my Saviour”  Luke 1:46-48

Gloria Amelia Superville
May 05, 1947 – August 07, 2010
“My soul magnifies the Lord, and my Spirit rejoices in God my Saviour”
Luke 1:46-48

Aunty Marilyn called yesterday to say that today will be a beautiful day and that we – Trudy, Maurice and I – are in her heart and prayers. It is a beautiful day. August 7th, three years ago was a Saturday…nice and sunny, just like today. Well it started nice and sunny…it’s raining now and I suppose this fits my mood perfectly. I miss you every day.

Rainy days always make me smile. It was you who encouraged my love for the rain because you loved it too. You never said no, when there was a downpour and we wanted to play/bathe in it…you would join in the game too. Because you were awesome like that. Just so you know the shower right now…would have warranted some hot tea after.

We had a Mass for you this morning and even though I knew the intention was going to be for you, I still felt like I was shot when I heard your name being said. Then I felt that familiar lump in my throat and my eyes filled with tears. I miss you every day.

I thought about Confirmation at Mass and what you said to Trudy and I afterward, that if you didn’t live to see us on our wedding days you knew what we would look like. I wish now that I could go back to that night and hug you just a little tighter. For the record, Trudy had orange beading on her wedding dress…who could have seen that one coming right?

I said to a friend of mine last Saturday that losing your mother is a loss you just don’t get over. It forces you to grow up. And she asked me what does that mean “growing up”? I was tempted to say, “Who feels it knows it” and only then can one understand what that means. But instead, I said that losing you has made me stronger and more vulnerable all at the same time. This was the short, tactful answer.

I close my eyes now and I think about you, I see you always there, encouraging me, listening to me, cheering for me. I see you staying up and with me as I studied; you would say, I may not be able to help but my presence is all that matters, right? And it was. I see you listening, truly listening as I talked about all the things that happened during my day. I see you working hard and making sacrifices and from that I learned the value and difference between needs and wants. Mummy, I miss you being there. One of the hardest things to come to terms with is when I have good news to share, there is no you to call. I always think first about you.

I miss you, every day.

And while most days, I usually keep my grief to myself, not today. Today I will not hide.

I miss you mummy every day.

Somehow though, I feel closer to you now. I understand things about you that I didn’t or probably couldn’t before because there was no “space” to think about those things. You filled that space. Now that you’re gone, I can see your influence and tenderness in my life more than ever…the good things, they remain. I am grateful for your love because it is that which continues to bless, comfort and encourage me.

I miss you mummy. EVERY DAY.


  1. August 7, 2013 / 11:10 pm

    This is a beautiful post, Vernette. You were incorrect when you said yesterday that you suck at NaBloPoMo. Keep it going and thank you for sharing!

    • August 7, 2013 / 11:33 pm

      Thanks for the support Lauri. I will keep going.

  2. August 15, 2013 / 10:18 am

    Beautiful post, Vernette! Your mom sounds like a wise woman. I remember when my mom first died I’d get that urge to call her to tell her about her own death, to tell her what I was going through. I thought that in 6 months that feeling would be gone. It amazes me that I still get the urge to call her when I have news. I’m realizing now that urge won’t ever go away, and I don’t want it to. I don’t try to call her because she’s there, I try to call her because I love her still so much. Maybe more if that’s possible. It’s a beautiful thing to be a daughter, which I am still and her my mom, even though she’s gone. You’re a strong woman, Vernette, and a great daughter. Way to keep your mom’s memory alive.

    • August 15, 2013 / 4:52 pm

      Thank you for reading Mary and your kind words are very much appreciated.

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