Hospice therapy pets, like the sweet miniature therapy horses that visit our Hospice CareCenters, bring love, laughter and comforting companionship to those on the end-of-life journey. Visits from these furry volunteers and their handlers provide patients with a welcome distraction from illness and help them feel more relaxed.
Becoming a volunteer for JourneyCare, doing pet therapy, has been a high point in my life.
It was more than two years ago when my mom, Rachel, had cancer that had advanced so severely, our family chose hospice.
I was 15 and remember her doctor recommending hospice, and then her sisters and my cousins coming over for a big family meeting. We all decided together that she would be cared for by JourneyCare.
Today I want to thank you, our donors, for your support and leadership. But when I think about what to share with you or how to show you the impact you make every day, my mind goes racing. That is because I have the honor of witnessing firsthand all the ways you help the third largest region in our country, the Chicagoland area and northern Illinois, and my mind is filled with so many wonderful examples of the difference you make.
But while I write this post, two stories keep coming to mind. The first is of an 11-year-old boy who lives in the far west part of our service region.
JourneyCare volunteer Steve Crews was a lifelong writer and communicator. He worked as a reporter with the Chicago Tribune, deputy press secretary with former Chicago Mayor Jane Byrne, an executive with two international public relations firms, and head of communications with Hallmark Cards and later, with Alberto Culver Corp. He was an Army vet, married and the father of two.
Steve was a much beloved JourneyCare volunteer who was always willing to do anything we asked of him. He was a patient care volunteer, a reception volunteer at two different desks on two different days, sat on our Veterans’ Advisory Council, helped at community health fairs and wrote numerous posts for our JourneyCare blog.
Steve died in November in our care, with friends and family nearby.
Below is the last piece Steve wrote for us, which his family is allowing us to share in his honor.
He is greatly missed.
Like My Uncle Ed
When I die, I want to go like my uncle Ed, a quiet guy with a blue-collar job at a local newspaper and a love of fresh water fishing. He was a man who never got excited. Pleased? Impatient? Sure. He was not without emotion. But excited? Not that I ever saw. Still, sitting in his chair, sipping an Edelweiss beer and reading the paper, he was always in control. If a problem arose, he was the one who solved it.