Letter: A Tribute Given in Time
David Moss-Cornett shares a tribute to his mother, Sylvia Moss-Cornett, and reminds readers that sometimes the best gifts aren't purchased but created.
LETTER TO THE EDITOR
We are accustomed to writing tributes after someone has died. This piece offers another possibility: to speak our gratitude while the person we are honouring can still read it, hear it, and receive it.
Preface
We often wait.
We wait until someone is gone before we gather our words,
before we say what mattered,
before we name the ways a life shaped our own.
Tributes are usually written in grief,
spoken when the person they honour
can no longer hear them.
But there is another way.
There is a quiet, generous gift
in telling someone—while they are still alive—
what they have meant to us.
In letting them read it.
In letting them hear it.
In letting them feel it land.
This Christmas season,
perhaps one of the most meaningful gifts
you can give someone you love
is not something wrapped,
but something written.
A tribute.
A few honest pages.
A letter that says, This is who you are to me.
What follows is a tribute I wrote for my mother,
Sylvia M. Moss,
while she is still here to read it,
to smile at it,
to recognize herself in it.
May it encourage others
to speak their gratitude sooner,
to offer their love out loud,
and to honour the living
with the words they deserve
while they can still receive them.
A Tribute to My Mother, Sylvia M. Moss
Written by her son, David Moss-Cornett
Mom,
I am writing this for you—
so that you can read these words yourself,
and recognize the extraordinary woman
I have been blessed to call my mother.
And I am writing this for the people who love you too,
so they can hear your story spoken aloud
while you are here with us—
present, radiant, quick-witted,
and still teaching us how to live with purpose.
You are 98 now,
and your life has been nothing short of a lantern—
steadily carried through nearly a century,
lighting the paths of others
with courage, with grace,
and with a kindness
that refuses to be small.
Your Years at the CBC—Justice in Motion
When I think about your time at the CBC,
I see a woman stepping into a world
that was not designed for her—
yet reshaping it anyway.
You worked in rooms
where women were underestimated,
but you never reduced yourself
to fit the size of someone else’s imagination.
You advocated for fairness,
not as a slogan,
but as a lived conviction.
Your clarity, your intelligence,
your quiet insistence on dignity—
these were revolutionary.
The kind of revolution
that becomes foundation.
Your Heart, Always Turning Toward Care
And when those years ended,
you did not stop.
You simply brought your principles
closer to the people who needed them most.
You supported women in crisis,
you offered steadiness in chaos,
you listened with a depth
most people never master.
Your compassion
has never been fragile—
it is practical, faithful, fierce.
Your Legacy of Protecting the Vulnerable
But one of the most powerful branches
of your life
grew from your belief
that compassion belongs everywhere—
even in the smallest, quietest lives.
You founded The Animal Care Network,
and because of you,
thousands of animals were saved.
Thousands.
Creatures who might otherwise
have gone unseen—
you saw them,
you fought for them,
you gave them warmth and safety
simply because you believed
that no life is too small
to be saved.
This is not charity.
This is moral courage.
Your Mischievous Wit
And through it all,
you have carried a sparkle—
a sly, clever, mischievous wit
that has caught more than a few people off guard.
You know exactly how to lift a room
with a single line,
how to tilt seriousness
just enough
so everyone remembers
that joy has its place too.
Your humour has always been
sharp, warm, and wonderfully disarming.
The Heart of Our Family
But even with everything you’ve done—
your advocacy, your leadership,
your bravery, your compassion—
your greatest impact
has been at home.
You are the mother
who shaped me,
guided me,
challenged me,
and loved me
with a depth that continues
to anchor my life.
And you didn’t just raise me—
you formed me.
From you I learned proper manners,
the value of integrity,
the power of thoughtful writing,
and the importance of carrying oneself
with dignity and kindness.
You instilled in me
a lifelong love for music,
for the arts,
for books, culture, and creativity—
gifts that continue to shape
how I see the world
and how I move through it.
You have been a devoted companion
to Frances Cornett,
a bond built on tenderness, resilience,
and shared truth.
You are a caring, loving mother-in-law
to Brittany,
offering her warmth, acceptance,
and that subtle, gentle humour
that you do so well.
You are a wonderful grandmother
to Charlie and Elliott,
who feel your love
in every story, every visit,
every moment of your presence.
And you have been
a supportive, steady aunt
to Joy and Gay,
who carry your influence
in their hearts and lives.
A Life That Still Lights the Room
Mom,
your life has bent always
toward justice,
toward compassion,
toward courage.
You’ve taught me—
and so many others—
that real strength is quiet,
that real kindness is active,
and that real love
is something you choose
again and again
with your whole being.
You are not simply a woman of history—
you are a woman of now,
still glowing,
still wise,
still mischievous,
still deeply loved.
And I am so proud
to be your son.
I honour you—
now, while you are here,
while your light is warm,
while your heart can hear every word—
and I thank you
for the life you’ve lived,
the love you’ve given,
and the legacy you continue to shape
with every breath.
December 2025
Submitted by David Moss-Cornett
Bognor
Letters to the Editor do not necessarily reflect the opinions or beliefs of The Owen Sound Current and its editor or publisher.