Jacqueline Mary Stevens

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Mom was an artist at heart. She could sit with one of her pastel creations, flowers more often than not, for an entire gray Wisconsin afternoon and never notice the frozen tundra outside.

With a heart full of gratitude and a healthy supply of Fritos on hand, we say goodbye to our mom, Jackie Stevens, an artist, a musician, a healer, and a woman who was decades ahead of her time when it came to telling us about the benefits of vitamin D, chlorella, curcumin, and the restorative powers of chocolate. Born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, on September 8th, 1938, she passed away peacefully on September 5th, 2026.

Mom is survived by us, her sons Mike (Trish) and Mark (Laura), and her granddaughter Sofia, who brought smiles to Grandma's face right up until her final days. She is also survived by her sister, Joanie, her niece and nephew, Wendy and Darrin, and her great-nieces and great-nephews, Bailey, Dakota, Morgan, and Tyler. She is preceded in death by our dad, Marvin, and her parents, Dorothy and Leo Janus.

Speaking of our dad, Mom's childhood friend Carrie once told us that on the morning of her wedding, Mom got cold feet and told her, "I'm not going out there!" Carrie talked her down, reassuring her that everything would be fine and that Dad loved her very much. We'd like to formally thank Carrie for that timely intervention, since, as far as we can tell, it's the only reason either of us is here to write this at all.

Mom was an artist at heart. She could sit with one of her pastel creations, flowers more often than not, for an entire gray Wisconsin afternoon and never notice the frozen tundra outside, or the ever-present cloud cover she affectionately called the "grey fungus." Her love of Chet Atkins eventually led her to pick up a guitar too, and she spent many contented hours working through new chords to learn her favorite songs, one stubborn note at a time.

She was also a woman of wonderfully simple pleasures. Peanut butter. Chips. Always chips. A scoop of ice cream, so long as it had ample chunks of something mixed in. She’d call us from the Kopp’s parking lot in the middle of winter, heater blasting, while she enjoyed a scoop of something delectable. During her final weeks, she enjoyed a special concoction of pinot grigio mixed with applesauce. Probably not a lot of health benefits there but she didn’t seem to mind.

Mom loved Hawaii and Hawaiian music, and she loved the Southwest, often filling her canvas with images of the desert and Southwestern-inspired scenes. Her music taste ranged from Graceland to Stockholm. She loved Elvis, whose music was still playing right through her last day. She loved ABBA, especially "Dancing Queen." And she loved the Green Bay Packers, rooting so hard for Brett Favre that she used to say he was like her other son.

She loved reiki, a Japanese energy-healing practice, though never for any spiritual reason of her own, she simply wanted to ease the pain and discomfort of the people she loved. She'd remind us that reiki could be done from a distance too, no appointment necessary. That was Mom: the most selfless, thoughtful woman we've ever known.

A true Greendale original, Mom cherished her Village. She once wrote about how moved she was watching the local high school choir sing patriotic songs at the celebration marking Greendale's 75th anniversary and its designation as a National Historic Landmark. She loved her town, her neighbors, and her country. Her devotion to Greendale is memorialized, quite literally, in a single letter. When the Village began selling personalized bricks beneath its gazebo, Mom wrote "X" on the order form where it asked for a name, expecting the Village to fill in the rest. Instead, they carved exactly what she gave them, and to this day, a brick reading simply "X" remains a beloved family landmark.

She missed her own father, our Grandpa Leo, deeply for the rest of her life, a loss that never fully softened with time. And despite the distance that had grown between them in recent years, Mom held onto fond memories of her granddaughter, Brittney, as well.

Every year on September 30th, Scout Lake Day, we play a video she recorded in 2012 of herself walking around Scout Lake, her favorite place, inviting whoever's watching to "come take a walk with me." We still take that walk with her, right on cue, every year.

We are profoundly grateful to the caregivers who walked alongside her, and us, through her final chapter. Nurse Kelly, her primary nurse, cared for Mom with tremendous gentleness, keeping us informed with a rare mix of calm and honesty through every change. She said once that she got as much out of visiting Mom as Mom got from her visits. That meant a lot to us. Emma, her primary caregiver for the last year and a half, had eagle eyes when it came to watching out for Mom, and her steady, attentive presence was a source of real comfort during the times we couldn't be there in person. Mom's warmth was strong enough to move the people caring for her, right to the end.

Mom was also deeply grateful to her chiropractor, Dr. Craig Jordan, whose genuine investment in her health and well-being kept her ambulatory far longer than she otherwise would have been.

Caregiver turned extended member of our family, Jackie Walton showed Mom such warmth and kindness right up until she passed. She kept her room decorated for every season and holiday, arguably the best-dressed room in the building.

Although the hurt and sadness we’re feeling is powerful, our faith reminds us of what the Apostle Paul wrote to the Thessalonians, that we don't have to grieve like people without hope, because through Christ, one day, we'll all be reunited for good.

As we say goodbye to Mom, we entrust her into the embrace of God's kingdom, believing she is now at peace, free of pain, and reunited with her father, her husband, and her Heavenly Father. We will remember her always as an artist, a healer, and a woman of wonderfully specific taste, decades ahead of her time in nearly everything. Love you, Mom. Always and forever.