Smart and caring Suzanne

DEBBIE JACOB

I LEARNED about Suzanne Mills’s death on social media like almost everyone else did. I can’t claim to have known her well. Actually, I met Suzanne about ten years ago only because we both swam in the Trinidad Hilton pool at 6 am to beat the mad rush every weekend.

At the time, I wrote for the Guardian; she wrote for Newsday. As journalists, we had little in common. I preferred writing light features; she delved into the dark pit of politics. In the pool, she thrashed out future columns. She wanted to cover politics in a way that would grip readers and get them to understand how politics impacted on our lives. Her political discussions were way over my head, but I enjoyed listening to them.

Suzanne struggled to balance writing a column with writing news stories and features. She wanted to cover everything political and at the same time she knew it was too much for her to do. She found her workload overwhelming, and she spoke of the physical toll it took on her.

Suzanne knew something had to give, but I sensed she felt reluctant to disappoint anyone. Stepping back from work is always easier said than done. Journalists always seem to feel they have to push harder and write more, and Suzanne was no exception. Deadlines can be both a thrill and a curse, and Suzanne had reached her threshold for tolerating the anxiety of deadlines.

If she ever felt people might be judging her or measuring her journalism against that of her late mother, renowned Newsday editor-in-chief Therese Mills, Suzanne never mentioned it to me. She held her mom in high esteem and spoke lovingly of her. She felt proud to follow in Therese Mills’s journalistic footsteps and always spoke of the invaluable lessons she learned from her mother personally and professionally, namely seek the truth and be fair.

Outside of work and the pool, Suzanne said she spent much of her time going through her mother’s papers. She appeared to be at her happiest point when she published a collection of her mother’s journalism.

Suzanne’s physical issues (I believe she told me she had Crohn’s disease) caused great stress or perhaps stress worsened her physical issues. It was one of those chicken-and-egg situations. She spoke of many physical ailments.

I pegged Suzanne as smart, caring and politically astute. My radar didn’t pick up any signs of her bipolar disorder. Eventually, she would speak publicly about her mental challenges in an effort to help others deal with theirs. She had a social conscience and a helpful nature and nothing could diminish that.

Colleagues described Suzanne, who served as Newsday editor-in-chief from 2002 to 2009, as “beautiful, intelligent, brilliant and a gifted writer, fair-minded and compassionate.” I most remember her gravelly voice, warmth, enthusiasm for journalism and encouragement for my work.

Sometimes she spoke of leaving journalism and Trinidad. She had happy memories of living in Spain and often said she wanted to return there to live.

I lost track of Suzanne when the Hilton renovated its pool and we no longer had membership to the Hilton swim club. She did reach out to me with great enthusiasm when she was launching the book of her mother’s journalism. It is a fine legacy for both of them.

The media said Suzanne’s body had been discovered in her Diego Martin home on August 14. Sadly, she died alone days before police found her body. When the news broke, I thought about what a privilege it was to have met Suzanne. She cared about this country.

Sifting through my memories I realised that one morning long ago in that pool, Suzanne had suggested I move to Newsday. It’s strange, looking back on it now, that such casual conversations contributed to a life-changing event for me.

But that is the way the world works. You never know who will cross your path and influence your life in unexpected ways, and you never know what problems good, kind people who reach out to help you might have.

Many people still stigmatise mental illness and people often suffer in silence. I’m sure many people are afraid to admit they suffer from depression or any mental illness with labels that we all try to avoid thinking about. But Suzanne spoke out and tried to help others struggling to articulate their thoughts and feelings. I will always admire her for that effort.

RIP, Suzanne. We are proud to have called you a fellow journalist.