Marija Delost Sukhenko, passed away peacefully on Thursday, January 4, 2024 at the age of 85. She is survived by her loving husband of 60 years, Alexandre Sukhenko; sons, Alex (Kristin) Sukhenko & Mark (Patricia) Sukhenko; grandchildren, Ava, Alex, Charlotte, Claire, Lara & Milena Sukhenko; brother, Branko (Barbara) Delost; several nieces and nephews.

In Lieu of flowers, please donate to:

The Bair Foundation, Christian Based Foster Care & Adoption Services https://www.bair.org/support-our-mission/donate/

Save the Children, Charity Organization for Children
https://www.savethechildren.org

Miracle Foundation, Charity Organization for Children
https://www.miraclefoundation.org

Marija Delost Sukhenko's visitation will be Tuesday, January 9th, 3-6 PM at the funeral home, 1411 Vintage Lane (Between 390 & Long Pond Rd.). Her Funeral Mass will be celebrated Wednesday, January 10th, 10:30 AM at Our Mother of Sorrows Church, 5000 Mt. Read Blvd., followed by her interment in Holy Sepulchre Cemetery.

A Tribute to our Mother.

Marija Delost, was born on November 20, 1938 in Koritniče, a beautiful Slovenian village nestled between the Julian Alps and the Adriatic coast in what was then Italy/occupied Yugoslavia.

There, community and extended family were sacred and common values of kindness, discipline, hard work, and perseverance instilled early.

A strong belief in God cemented the villagers to one another -- and not one but two churches chimed for the faithful. One dedicated to St. Anthony The Hermit, protector of children, and a second perched high up the mountainside reserved for pilgrimage and dedicated to St. Jerome. Marija was baptised there, the second born to profoundly devoted parents.

But in 1938, a geopolitical storm was brewing - one which would soon sweep through the village and rip her life apart.

Koritniče, a tiny dot on a map, sat deep within the fault-lines of giants vying for territorial power: under complicated WWI negotiations which even the Treaty of Versailles could not resolve, that pocket of the Austrian-Hungarian empire was ceded to the Kingdom of Italy in 1921. The Kingdom of Italy would soon become Fascist, and it was Mussolini's eventual capitulation to Allied forces in 1943 which brought Nazis to the village.

Who now controlled that modest enclave proved crucial to the grim game of war. Koritniče and its surroundings were seized and named the 'Operational Zone of the Adriatic Littoral' under the military control and governance of Nazi Germany: a last buttress from which to repel the Allied troops and with headquarters based in the nearby coastal city of Trieste.

The SS occupiers clung hard to that piece of land whilst regarding its local Slavic population as "Untermenschen" - a race they felt was subhuman, entirely inferior. That year, Marija witnessed beloved relatives from both her mother and father's sides of the family rounded up and sent to concentration camps from which they never returned.

This is when Marija's father joined Yugoslav Commander Josip Tito's band of Partisans - leaving his young wife and small children for the mountains and its network of underground resistance fighters against the Nazis. The village held strong for a while. Yet in the winter of 1944 - desperate Nazi commanders decided to blitz the village and ransack it to the ground to smoke out any Partisans hiding in its midst.

Marija miraculously then fooled death many times, a series of deep-seated childhood traumas which she carried all her life, entirely unresolved. She would become an extraordinary survivor, learning very early that moments in life great or small make us who we are.

In the winter of 1944 bomber planes encircled the village, firebombs raining from the skies. Narrowly escaping their burning home, having managed to crawl through a window, Marija would often be haunted by the memory of her friends and their parents, scrambling uphill through fields, herself carried tight in her mother's arms. She recalled looking up, clearly seeing the faces of some of the pilots as they circled back and strafed those who fled with machine gun fire. One plane then released a bomb. The sound of the explosion was deafening until her mother dropped to the snow, her last words "little Marija I love you... but my legs are cut off" expressed very calmly. Shrapnel had dealt a fatal blow. Marija was carried by others to the safety of the woods but all her life she yearned the love of that mother gone -so soon.

The following months were spent in an orphanage, twice encircled by Nazis, the children rounded up for interrogation at gunpoint, then twice placed in her church of St. Anthony with gasoline canisters and the threat of being set ablaze. Marija witnessed buildings and people go up in flames, her own escape she called a miracle. When capitulation finally came, she would be haunted by the sight of the dead lining her village streets. 'I didn't eat for 4 days' she would remember. The Nazis were gone, the Allied victorious, but without a mother and an income, her father placed both his children back in the orphanage where they remained for 2 further years until he was able to provide support. From that experience, she dedicated herself to charitable activities over the course of her lifetime, collecting contributions for displaced children, orphans and foster care.

Life under Communism was not easy. Despite displaying great talent at school, with the promise of a scholarship to a boarding school for the gifted, her father declined permission. She needed to work hard in the fields instead, collecting, drying, and selling hay vital for their existence. At 17, she took a huge gamble and under cover of darkness and renewed risk to her life, decided to flee Yugoslavia and become a refugee, walking for days towards Italy, hiding from border patrols and sniffer dogs in ditches. One of the friends she fled with was also her cousin and pregnant at the time, so Marija gave up her shoes to help the cousin walk easier. When they finally made it over the border and was finally sworn into freedom, Marija was barefoot.

She wouldn't return to see her father and brothers for 10 years. She had left without notifying loved ones. The risk of being an accomplice in their escape too great for those who remained. The first message to them that she had made it across to a democratic Italy came via a radio free Europe broadcast.

In the refugee camps, Marija found many kindred spirits who became firm friends for life. The displaced shared that second lease of life: They knew how lucky they had been, they shared similar values of family and community which persisted and blossomed despite their fear and the unknown. Caring and kindness united them but amazingly also openness and forgiveness in the face of prejudice and hardship. Throughout her life, Marija never harboured resentment: she saw the best in people; believed in the power of community aligned with moral principle as a force for good. Despite her experiences in war, she had an uncanny ability to ground herself in the knowledge that in the end, things would turn out ok. Her faith in better tomorrows was unwavering.

Always learning, striving, discipline, elegance, appreciation, pride in work, pride of heritage, dignity, Marija seized an opportunity to learn and gain exposure to all of these values via employment. She was hired as staff into a prominent household. She worked hard and made an impression. Throughout her life she spoke fondly of the matron of the house who took her under her wings. Her "Gospa Zora" provided inspiration and guidance - perhaps, she thought, an angel sent by her mother.

It was Gospa Zora who helped her figure out what next and where next. Many of her fellow refugees were seeking passage elsewhere: most went to Australia and Canada. For Marija, The United States became an unexpected option and a beacon of hope for an even better life.

As it extraordinarily turned out, Marija's late mother, had been born on US soil. Marija found out in Italy's refugee camps that her mother's family had spent the 1920s in Pennsylvania where her grandfather had worked as a mining technician. They returned to their homeland, but post World War II, US policy allowed for sons and daughters of US citizens and those displaced by war to become citizens and start new lives. When Marija found out, she also was given the name of an aunt in Buffalo, NY. Together with Gospa Zora they helped with the processing and travel arrangements. She was sworn in as a US citizen in Naples, Italy in the Italian language with huge excitement and trepidation: she spoke as many as 6 languages - all self-taught - but did not know any English.

From that first transatlantic crossing aged 21 aboard the 'Montanaue Vulcania' to her landing on Ellis Island, Marija often proudly reminded us that her story was America's story. A resounding story of hope, of acceptance and tolerance. One of her first sights of the US would have been the Statue of Liberty, give me your tired, your poor, your hungry.

On American soil began the third, and in her words the most fulfilling chapter of her life, one for which she often expressed gratitude for all this country made possible for her: a testament to her belief in the endless possibilities that only America could help unlock and she proudly never parted from her first US passport, stamped June 9, 1960 with New York, NY as port of entry.

From New York, Marija proceeded to Buffalo where her aunt gave her refuge. She had numerous jobs there, but language was a huge barrier for her. She once told us: a foreign accent here is a sign of courage and of hope. Persevere, persevere Marija, tomorrow is a new day was the dialogue in her head.

She kept yearning for the community spirit she knew from her home village and which she had found amongst her fellow refugees in Italy. She discovered to her delight that some of her friends from Italy had also made it to the US. They were near, in a place called Rochester.

Marija moved. She found better employment opportunities and established a close circle of friends in Rochester. She became an active member of the church community. She used to love going to the dances sponsored by the local ethnic clubs. One of those clubs and her network of friends connected her eventually to the love of her life and a new community entirely.

Marija first met Alexandre Sukhenko on a blind date at a New Year's Eve dance at a Ukrainian club. Alexandre was a gentleman and made a wonderful impression. There was much they had in common. Both lost their mothers at early ages to tragic circumstances. Both were refugees, displaced because of war and had ventured out into the wide world in search of better lives. Marija loved how Alexandre was part of a larger community of Ukrainians, all supporting each other with kindness and love, focused on hard work, discipline and perseverance. They married in 1964 and stayed together for 60 years.

Marija and Alex had 2 sons, Alexander and Mark. Her pride and joy! She dedicated her life to being a guiding light for them. Both attended school and university, founded families of their own, bringing up 6 grandchildren of whom she was immensely proud. She grasped all that this life had given: for it was a miracle she had made it at all - and an immense privilege to grow old. She would often reflect that Slovenia was her mother and The United States her father.

But ultimately, Home transcended all borders for her. For her home was always with those she loved most.

She never lost her sense of hope and faith along a journey that was harder than most. Her positive attitude, her compassion and fierce belief in the power of being a doer and remaining kind and open to the world despite all circumstances, endured. She often spoke of the memory of her own mother's smile guiding her and illuminating all darkness even through her later years. Her smile is also one that we will all remember - all of us who knew her before and then despite dementia, which eventually took hold.

Marija was profoundly good and luminous to the end.

There is a tradition in her home village of Koritniče. Whenever sons or daughters of the community pass from this life into the next -- regardless of where they are in the world, they ring the church bells of St. Anthony's.

On January 5th, a day after her passing, the bells of her beloved St. Anthony of Koritniče rang out loudly and solemnly, guiding her soul with certainty, warmth, and love to be reunited with all the souls of her friends and family -- and especially back to her beloved mother.