For as far as I can remember the 20th of May was both a solemn and joyous occasion in our home. Revered as the day our beloved mother/wife, Susee Mable entered this Earth and celebrated à la Christmas morning owing to her love, kindness and merriment which enveloped our world. Today marks the first May 20th our family has spent without our beloved mother/wife. The gulf of sadness is unbearable but continuously soothed by her endless and unforgettable love.
Happy Birthday Mum. Love you always.
"A better life and brighter future for Canadians living with Parkinson's today. A world without Parkinson's tomorrow."
Listed below are the names of individuals/families who kindly made donations to Parkinson Society Canada in loving memory of Susee Mable Anandaraju:
Brad Stevenson - Sarnia, Ontario. Canada.
Louise and Phil Bowerman - Barrie, Ontario. Canada.
Krupavaram and Clara Meesarapu - Burtonsville, Maryland. USA.
Don and Shyamala Injety - Silver Spring, Maryland. USA.
Venkata Ratnam and Victoria Busi - Thornhill, Ontario. Canada.
Maudina John-Charles - Markham, Ontario. Canada.
Anonymous.
The Anandaraju family would like to express our profound gratitude for your kindness towards our beloved mother/wife and for your support in the fight against Parkinson's disease. Donations can be made oline at Parkinson Society Canada (http://www.parkinson.ca) or via R.S Kane (https://gatewayprod4.frontrunnerpro.com/book-of-memories/2109195/Anandaraju-Susee-Mable-Chanty/donation.php). Kind regards.
So, so sorry to hear about Susee's passing, Raju!! We know she has suffered for many years. I know that you took such good care of her!! Sorry we are not able to be with you today! Please accept our sincere condolences and we will keep in touch!! Much love, Lynne & Ross http://www.legacy.com/guestbooks/thestar/susee-anandaraju-condolences/174628813?cid=full#sthash.lqDEphci.dpuf
My Dearest Mother,
I love you and miss you with all my heart. You were my hero, my protector and the love of my life. As a child I dreaded the day that you would leave me, the day when God would come calling. And now it's here, the quiet of that other side its volume deafening and complete. We are here dad, Chell and I, still standing at the ready, still waiting to hold you. We took it upon ourselves to see you through this difficult journey, as you took it upon yourself to see us through each trial that came our way. And you did.
Over the past ten years we witnessed your decline, we came to know firsthand what Parkinson's can do to a person. Your faith in God became our faith in God. Your courage inspired and continues to inspire.
All those years ago we would sit together and discuss our dreams. Some of which will never come true. And you understood that, but that never let you down. You moved forward with prayer and innocence of heart, persevering until the end. Despite the loneliness of estrangement and excommunication, despite chronic pain and sadness, your faith never wavered. You believed in the truth in its absolute form, presented it with a loving heart and forgave when it was rejected, something I am having trouble doing.
But I'll get there with your help, with your example.
You who carried us through snowstorms as children, who breathed for Chelly during her asthmatic attacks, who abated dad's diabetes, who saved me from a life threatening illness—You, it's just you who protected us, saved us, loved us. With verse and song, a hug and kiss, countless delicious meals, wounds healed, broken hearts mended and made whole again—a million and one things that only you could and did accomplish. Mom, you are a success story in the purest sense. And I thank you with the most profound gratitude I can offer.
I long to place my cheek against yours, to kiss your forehead, to hold you forever. I love you mama.
Your Anibob.
(Anil, a most fortunate son)
My deepest sympathies for the loss of such a wonderful women. You could tell by the loving way her children took care of her that she was a wonderful mother. I will miss her beautiful smile and kind words.
My wife Susee Mable (Chanty) loved to pray, meditate and write. The third daughter of Pastor M. Benjamin and Victoriamma, she grew up in the Adventist church. Even as a child, Susee could be seen praying under trees and carrying her bible every where she went. She was always compassionate and prayerful and respected every religion and belief system. She found inspiration and joy in everything and everyone. A truly jolly spirit. In the 90s she discovered the internet and email and in 2004 she continued her online explorations by starting a blog called "Silent Meditations". It was a place where she wrote freely and happily her beliefs and experiences as a Christian and an open-minded spiritual being. Writing poetry, personal musings and collecting quotations was a habit she engaged in since childhood. Our home is filled with handwritten notebooks of her reflections. She was truly a lovely soul and it's my pleasure to share with those who knew her and those who did not have the chance to meet her, her thoughts and beliefs—in her own words.
Please visit Silent Meditations (http://suseemable.blogspot.ca). Thank you.
I used to suffer from terrible bouts of asthma as a child.
The attacks were so bad, that I mercifully have blocked the finer details from memory. My mother Susee, ever so lovingly would stay up all night, keeping watch, desperately trying to get her youngest child to breathe. My poor father could never stay awake. He would drift into a deep, snore-filled slumber. My brother, bless his heart, tried his best but he was just a kid and would often pass out into a well deserved sleep (the responsibility of looking after his little sister while Mum worked her shifts, fell on his capable young shoulders).
Anyone could tell that it was absolute heartbreak for Mum to witness her child suffer so, as it would be for any mother. She never thought much of her own varied health ailments, let alone the exhaustion of: running a household, raising two children, dealing with the foibles of married life and extended kin all whilst delving daily into the rigors of the nursing home where forlorn patients looked to her, for the same kind of comfort she gave us at home.
My Mum was amazing, to say the least. She put others first, regardless of what else was on her plate. I fondly recall her bringing me a cup of Postum and a slice of bread, whenever asthma reared its cruel head. She'd break off pieces of the bread, dip them into the piping hot cup and feed me. She'd blow the cup to cool down the Postum and then lift the cup to my mouth for a sip. I'd struggle to lift my head from the pillow, it's hard to eat when you cannot breathe. But those cups of Postum and slices of bread alongside Mum's sweet face were the balm for my aching lungs and saddened spirit.
These past few years I've been somewhat of a mum to my Mum. Reflecting back on all these memories, it's a strange, sad and beautiful reality all at once.
Mum always had the best smell.
When I was a kid and my mum Susee was still a working nurse, I would often stand beside her meager dressing table, assorted with the humblest of talcum powders, perfumes, and lotions, and would admiringly watch as she methodically adorned herself for work. Clad in a crisp two-piece nursing uniform (only ever white or light pink) that she bought from Sears, she would initiate her modest beauty ritual.
She always began by gingerly proceeding to pull back her long, silky and slightly wavy black hair into an elegant bun. As she combed her hair to remove non-existent tangles with one of our many fine-toothed combs (we never used hair brushes for some reason), I would play with the brown and beautifully designed clip that she wore to hold up her chignon (I like the word chignon, I rarely get to use it). It often looked to me like a pretty insect with wings. Mum would commonly hum or sing while she got ready, sometimes I would sing along or just listen.
Once her tresses were finely combed, she would kindly ask me to pass back the clip (at which point I would stop forcing the insect from doing gymnastics on the dressing table). The next step in the regimen was to set her face (because "nurses should appear decent for their patients") and this would start with an ample application of Nivea cream for moisturizing, followed by smoothing in some light chocolatey-coloured foundation that smelled quite nice.
If the foundation had a lovely fragrance, the next step smelled even better. Mum would sprinkle some Timeless talcum powder that she purchased from Avon, into her hands and gently massage the velvety-soft dust onto her face and neck. She smelled like heaven incarnate. I would often make fingerprints in the remnants of powder that accidentally were sprinkled onto the table and then walk my fingers along my cheek, leaving a trail of white prints on my brown face. A powder puff would then gently be dabbed on her face to even out any creases or blotches. A little Vaseline would afterward be glossed onto Mum's lips (so as to avoid chapping "not for showing off"). For the final touch, she would spray a little scent from Avon on her wrist and then softly touch her wrist to her neck.
The best part of the whole ritual was the embrace at the end, where I would inhale the scent of her neck and face. The end of the ritual also quite sadly meant that Mum had to leave for her evening shift and that my brother and I would only see her again in the morning rush before school. Sometimes in the evenings, we missed her so much that we would take to smelling her housecoats, just to remember what being loved smelled like.
It smelled like warmth.
An enduring memory I have of my mother Susee and a testament to her love, occurred in the late 70s.
As I recall, it was a weekday morning and a blizzard was approaching: you could feel it in your bones. The weather in the late 70s, if anything was memorable. Having just had major surgery, Mum was on bed rest with strict instructions to avoid heavy lifting or work of any kind. What was to be a morning of rest, however, quickly turned into one of alarm.
The phone call from the elementary school informed that her youngest child was amid the throws of a fierce bout of asthma. At the time, my dad regrettably worked for a monster of a woman who lacked even the simplest shred of compassion and refused to give him time off to pick up a sick child from school (fully aware of local weather conditions and also that my mother was at home convalescing).
Since she did not drive, my mother, recuperating from a hysterectomy, walked to the elementary school in a blizzard, to pick up her ailing offspring.
The finer details of that morning have escaped me and I have more or less (mercifully) blocked out vivid recollections of my asthma attacks but I do remember the struggle to breathe and walk home over mounds of snow alongside my weak mother and older brother (I don't remember how he got there but I'm assuming he was called to help by the school). As it turned out, our direction home meant that we had to walk directly into the wind and torrent of snowfall. At one point, I hunched over, holding my knees with my hands, panting...I could go no further. My mother then lifted me up and carried me home with no regard to her tender surgical wounds or stitches. She simply was on a mission to get her kids home. She lovingly urged us to keep going, never once becoming angry or impatient.
She brought us home safely that day. When it came to her children, everything else came second for Mum, including herself.
We are very saddened for your loss of Akka. Please accept our condolences and may our prayers help comfort you. Love, Ashok, Lata, Sudhir, Sandhya, and Swapna
To the family of Mrs. Anandaraju. I am so sorry for your loss. Please find comfort in the wonderful future in store under God's Kingdom. One day times like these will be a thing of the past and sickness will no longer exist. (Revelation 21:4 & Isaiah 33:24). I offer my sincere condolence.
Mommie 2 was such a sweet, kind, brave, compassionate, and understanding woman. She could always make me feel happy. I am blessed that she was a part of my life. I got to know her well through her daughter Chelly's- my best friend/sister- emails; I consider her like my second mother. I only wish that I could have met her in person, but I am sure that I will see her in heaven. I will give her a big hug and thank her for all the love that she has given me.
I will never forget the sweet love you put into our hearts. My sweet peddamma, may you rest in peace. I believe the time is near when Jesus will come back and raise you up and we'll all be in heaven with our King. Will love you, and miss you until then <3
Peddamma, I'm deeply heartbroken that I was unable to come and see you. I always felt the genuine happiness and warmth every time you called home. As years went on you heard me grow from the child you saw 20 years ago. Although, you may not know every detail of our lives, you still showed our family relentless love. For this I am grateful and will always cherish this family. God has finally released you from the chains of this world! We will all miss you but hope we may see you again in HIS everlasting kingdom. May the Lord make his face shine upon you always Peddamma. We love you!
In this world it's very hard to find people with a good heart. People that understand their feelings & circumstances. Accommodate without expecting anything in return. Loving people, not by their status but as they are. These kind of people remind me very much of Angels. Akka is a person who made me feel comfortable, treated me as her own, loved my husband (her first cousin) like her own brother, and my children as her own. I miss you Akka for being a role model for me, guiding me through life, making me feel welcomed in your life. Akka you taught me many things and gave me many ideas on what family should be like. When it came to household things like cooking, organizing, reading the WORD. All these things touched my heart because you are that kind of person. Thank you for being my sister. Until the day I am reunited with you in heaven, I will miss you.
Anil and Suhasini made a donation to Parkinson's Society
"A world without Parkinson's tomorrow." In loving memory of our darling mother Susee Mable who endured her battle with Parkinson's with courage and strength. A beacon of light and love, as always.
