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The following appeared in the Chicago Tribune on April 8, 2002:
Geriatric social worker Jan Susan Heffernan, 49, died of ovarian cancer Monday, April 1, in her home in Evanston. A longtime employee of the Council for Jewish Elderly in Chicago, she was "very compassionate with older people," said her sister, Julie Kaplan. Ms. Heffernan enjoyed home visits with the elderly and often worked after hours or took phone calls at home to help her clients. "Jan was always there, listening to them. She made them feel very special," said longtime companion Donald Hey. Her personal interests included cooking, gardening, hiking, camping and travel. After cancer was diagnosed six years ago, Ms. Heffernan decided to go on living a full life, her sister said. "When she was losing her hair, she never wore a wig," her sister said. "She said, `The heck with it, I'm proud to be alive.'" She continued to work and travel, including a trip to Florence, Italy, with her two teenage children, so they could see the places she had traveled during her junior year at Drake University. In September, Ms. Heffernan walked above the snow line at Mt. Rainier National Park. "It was amazing the things she could do, and did, with great joy and pleasure," Hey said. More than 500 people attended her memorial service, Kaplan said. "It's inspirational to me how many lives she has touched," she said. Ms. Heffernan is also survived by a son, Gabe Mathless; a daughter, Stephanie Mathless; and her stepfather, Sydney Hoffman.
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Linda Schlesinger (Plotkin)
Jan was a wonderful friend and will forever live in my heart:)Susan Lynn Sternberg (Berger Kabaker)
I gave the eulogy at Jan's funeral- I think about her all the time- she was one of a kind - here is the eulogy:In 1962, I heard that a family moved into my neighborhood with a daughter my age. So I jumped on my bicycle and rode over there, rang the bell and introduced myself. Jan and I became fast friends. Even recently, Jan loved to talk about how impressed she was when she saw me get off my bike, swinging my leg like a boy.
Not only did we become best friends; we introduced Sally and Elaine, our mothers, who also became best friends. After Sally died, I introduced Sydney to my mother’s sister, Louise and they married. Now we were even related.
Jan and I shared so much in the last 40 years. Some things we both loved, like great authors, gardening, movies and dogs. She tried, unsuccessfully, to get me into health food, astrology, Feng shui and meditation. I tried, unsuccessfully, to get her into Neiman Marcus.
But one of the things we always shared, was Jan’s mother, Sally. We both adored her and kept her alive by telling funny Sally stories over and over and over. We never tired retelling Sally’s advise regarding boys, how she would eat our popcorn when I would sleep over and how Sally made us drive around the neighborhood with her so she could look in everyone’s windows (we would duck down in the back seat). Even after 20 years, the story of how Sally dealt with Julie’s use of bad language in the grocery store would leave us doubled over laughing.
Years later we shared this “cancer thing”, as Jan would call it. Now we shared Dr. Merkel too and even once had chemo together in the same room.
Jan and I had planned to walk together last summer in the Avon breast cancer walk. We even started training, meeting on Sundays and walking from Winnetka to Glencoe. That winter, I broke my ankle and had to bow out.
But the walk was too important to miss. I pitched the idea to my editor and after some convincing, Jan agreed I could write about her experience. We had several interviews and walked the last mile together. My editors liked the piece so much, it ran in all 50 paper.
As much as I thought I knew about Jan, my interviews with her revealed so much more. We would meet in Wilmette for the interviews. In typical Jan fashion, she would ride her bike there from Evanston. I, of course, arrived in my SUV.
She told me, and these are her words, that cancer changed her outlook on everything.
“It’s one of the by-products of a profound experience,” she said.
And so she set out to “do it all”. She began taking art classes again, returned to Italy with Gabe and Stephanie, took a public speaking class and started training for the walk. She even, to her own surprise, took an acting part in a play at work. She planted zinnias at Sally’s grave. In addition to her work with the Jewish Elderly, she had been teaching at Kendall College for extra money. With her new outlook, she decided to stop teaching. She said she would rather be home with Gabe and Stephanie and cook dinner and and bake bread.
“So, we’ll live more modestly. While I am feeling good I want to do what’s important to me,” she said.
She told me that she had once heard that when you get bad news, its pretty influential how you first deal with it. When she first heard her diagnosis, she decided right away that she was going to make it. She carefully chose just a few people to be around. Diane, her spiritual guru, Sharon, a nurse who she said was “healthcare savvy” and could filter information, her neighbor Carol and of course, her children and Donald.
And there was a dream Jan had shortly after her diagnosis. She told me that she was outside a building and it was snowing. There was a wolf, looking at her with big eyes. She kept trying to get into the building. The first two doors were locked. Finally, she tried the third door and got in.
She told me that she always imagined getting in a narrow door. “It was a metaphor. Or I wouldn’t be here talking to you.”
Jan talked about the Cancer Wellness Center too. She said for two years, it was a place she could go to both give and receive.
She talked also of all of the support she got from the people at work. Her social work at the Council for Jewish Elderly was so important to her. She was very protective of he her clients, in fact few knew she had cancer. She said she learned so much from the people she worked with. Most important, she said, she learned that “people die just how they live.”
In these past months, even as her health was failing, Jan always ran the show. If you were lucky enough to be allowed to visit, you know that when she had enough, she would ask you to leave. She was the same Jan, opinionated and a little bossy who constantly surprised us all. Even in the hospital, when she was too weak to open her eyes, she still did that “hand thing” where she would cut through the air with her right hand as she talked.
She kicked me out of her hospital room several times. I finally asked Louise to plead with her so I could visit and to tell her I promised not to talk. Although Jan was having a really bad day and not talking much, she picked her head up, looked over at Louise and said, “When does Susan ever not talk?”
But I did get to visit and was struck by her resolve to be in control and to maintain a sense of humor. We laughed as she rinsed her mouth with blue mouthwash and spit it into a bowl for the nurses to look at it. “That will throw them off,” she said.
She talked about the many friends throughout the country that she didn’t have the strength to call.
“Do you think its OK if I just send them all a postcard and say, Bye?”
But some of the conversations in the last days were serious. She said she had had enough of trying new treatments. She was tired and it was OK to leave now. She felt her life had been great. Although she desperately wanted more time with Gabe and Stephanie she was grateful to see them through high school. Just one thing, she said. She didn’t want to suffer. Jan Gross and I were in the room and we both said, not to worry, there would be lots of medication so she wouldn’t suffer. As only Jan could, she said to us, “No, you have to suffer. That’s what makes you want to leave.”
Jan Gross, came in from California twice in recent weeks to spend time with Jan. She wasn’t able to be here today, but I want to share one the many things she said about Jan.
She said, “There’s a line in the movie, “As Good As It Gets” when Jack Nicholson’s character tells Helen Hunt that she makes him want to be a better man. Jan Gross said Jan makes me want to be a better person. “When I would lapse into cynicism and sarcasm she would gently goad me into a more forgiving frame of mind. It’s not that she was some simple Pollyanna; she just knew that it is more productive and worthwhile to dwell on what is possible than to dwell on what is hopeless.”
Jan’s sister Julie will walk in the Avon walk this year in Jan’s honor. Julie credits Jan with “giving me a gift that no one else could”. She was referring to genetic testing which Jan underwent primarily for Julie. When Jan found that she tested positive, she insisted Julie go for counseling and testing. Because of Jan, Julie overcame the fear that she too would someday get sick, like her mother. Especially after the test results. Julie’s test came back negative.
“It’s a gift from Jan I will have forever. A gift that has changed everything,” Julie said.
A few weeks ago, I wrote Jan a letter. I told her that she always managed to live her life with integrity, humor and insightfulness well beyond her years. I told her how she always made me laugh. And I told her how much I will miss her.
I told Jan too, that I have watched how she has dealt with all that has been thrown at her and how I marvel at her spirit.
But most importantly, I told her the following:
“In the same way that we have kept Sally alive all of these years, in our conversations every time we met, everyone who loves you will tell your stories over and over. And it will comfort us and make us smile.”
I told her how I will always remember her face the last mile of the Avon walk. There was such serenity and happiness. I told her I was so proud of her and proud to be her friend.
I told her what a great job she has done with Stephanie and Gabe. That they are beautiful and responsible children.
I told her too that I remember before Sally died, she told us she couldn’t imagine the world without her. What she didn’t know, is that she lived with us every day since. And so I told Jan that I can’t imagine the world without her either but assured her we will feel her presence every day.
Jan and I walked the last mile of the Avon walk together. Her knee was wrapped in an ace bandage and we were holding hands, laughing and crying. She had this look of total joy. Towards the end, as the crowd was cheering, she turned to me and said, “Mom would be so proud.”
Jan always had more friends than anyone I knew. She always found the time to keep in touch. For those of you whose phone calls she didn’t return, please know it wasn’t because she didn’t want to.
And so, just as she said people do, Jan died the way she lived. With the love and support of Gabe and Stephanie and her sister Julie, the strength and devotion of Donald, whom she adored, her dad Sydney, who was always her rock, Danny, who I always described as the best ex-husband anyone ever had and many incredible friends – especially Hedy, both Dianes, Ellen and Carol. Because of all of you, Jan was able to die at home, just as she wanted.
Jan made it through lots of narrow doors in the last six years. And through it all, even at the end, she was always true to herself, always the same Jan.
Janet Christensen (Kuchar)
I didn't know Jan all that well except to say that what I saw was good. Thank you for posting the eulogy. What a tribute to a best friend!Deborah Rivlin
Jan and I shared an apartment our senior year at Drake University. We stayed in touch and when I visited Jan and I would often meet at Walker Brothers to catch up. When it was clear that there was no more treatment for her I came to her house to visit. I will always remember the special times we spent together. She is truly missed.
Larry Davidman
Although we did not stay in touch, Jan still and will always hold a very special place in my heart! I'm mostly sad for her family, especially her children and all the folks that would have known her because she enriched everybody’s life that she touched. Jan is one of the really special people who will always be missed. xoxoxox