DONAHUE, Anne Elizabeth (Magaletta) left artful doodles behind at every restaurant she visited. A near likeness of her beloved Borzois on a napkin damp from a sweating, icy coke. A horse mid-gallop, red from a blunt crayon, on the back of a kids menu.
Cats, birds and even mice scrawled across the crisp white paper tablecloths at an Italian restaurant.
Anne’s artistic flair was always something of a marvel – her painting, Bats in the Belfry was even displayed in the Cleveland Museum of Art.
But then again, she was always something of a marvel.
She was tough, and blunt, unafraid to say what she thought. Anne graduated from college just days after her 19th birthday, at a time when women attending them was still somewhat scandalous.
Known to so many as “Doc’s wife”, Anne worked alongside her husband of 60 years, Dr. William Donahue, until he retired at the age of 79. Together they built one of the first Orthopedic Sports Medicine clinics in the country.
But she was so much more.
She was fierce and unyielding in her beliefs.
She was fierce and unyielding in her love.
At weekly dinners with her grandchildren, she spent more time trying to help prepare the meal than relaxing. She was always making sure her loved ones were comfortable before she herself ever was.
Her hugs were tight, so tight you were certain your face was turning blue – her red lips always planted a kiss on your cheek, leaving behind a mark that lasted until you scrubbed your face that night.
But when she passed away the morning of April 12, 2022 at the age of 84, Anne left a mark on our hearts that can never be scrubbed away.
She loved hot fudge sundaes and chocolate chip cookies.
She loved orchids and violets. At their farm in Ceasars Creek, every inch of their house was covered in brilliant colorful blooms that she painstakingly cared for even after they had wilted and browned.
She loved outrageous jewelry, and outrageous outfits. Known best for her impeccable style and those trademark violet eyes.
She loved animals from elephants and leopards to dogs, cats and even swans, that she and Bill raised as family members. Those animals could do no wrong. When one of her whippets took a huge bite out of her granddaughter’s birthday cake, Anne was the first to blame it on the child who she said simply couldn’t wait to sink her teeth into the dessert.
And even when Alzheimer’s Disease began stealing her memories, it couldn’t steal her spirit. Up to the very end, she was always dancing: always laughing: always loving.
Anne will be remembered for her infectious laugh – for how when she was truly happy her whole body shook with joy, tears streaming down her cheeks, her face tilted toward the sun. And the artistic gifts she passed down to future generations.
If you close your eyes, you can still feel those hugs that were almost too tight.