At 31 she lost her husband to cancer. Now 42, she consoles others with therapy dog Tripp

HINGHAM – It was such a storybook beginning.

Heather Demarco and Alec Cyr were in their mid-20s, their lives opening before them, both living and working as medical sales reps in Boston when they met, fell in love and got married. Heather grew up in Massachusetts and had lived in California; Alec came from northern Maine.

They moved from the Boston area up to Kennebunkport, Maine, where Alec could easily do all the outdoor activities on which he thrived, enjoying an active life filled with nature, running, fishing and cross-country skiing. They'd been married for one year and had just run together in a marathon when he was diagnosed with colon cancer at age 33.

"We never lost hope," Heather says.

For two years, Alec endured endless surgeries, chemotherapy and radiation treatments. They decided to have a child together; Heather's IVF procedure was successful on the first try.

But in 2011, Alec passed away at age 35. In his last months, he spent his days doing what he most loved – being with his family and out on his boat, fishing.

"It was a wonderful marriage, as short as it was," Heather says. She vowed she would try to live every day to the fullest, remembering what he missed out on.

Heather was just 31; their son, Chase, was 5 months old. In her grief, she was comforted by taking long walks outdoors, pushing Chase in his stroller with their golden retriever, Millie.

"I don't know if I would have made it without that," she says.

Tripp, a golden retriever, touches a patient's heart

Some 12 years later, Heather Cyr, living now in Scituate, arrives at the Pat Roche Hospice Home on Turkey Hill in Hingham to visit patients and staff of the NVNA and Hospice.

Her golden retriever is with her; his name is Tripp, an affectionate 3-year-old whom she got after Millie died three years ago. One of the patients they visit is an older man who is sleeping when his daughter welcomes them into his room.

"Oh, we had goldens, my dad loved goldens," his daughter says. Tripp walks over and nudges her father's hand, then licks his arm. The man opens his eyes and smiles.

His daughter begins crying softly.

"I haven't seen him smile in weeks," she says. "He's reacted to nothing. That was everything. I can't wait to tell my family."

On her drive home, Heather is still moved by the daughter's response and thinks, "That's why Tripp and I are here."

She is now 42 and has been a hospice volunteer for seven years, since moving back to Massachusetts from Maine to be closer to her sisters. She makes time every two weeks to visit with hospice patients and their families, in their own homes or at the NVNA's hospice home.

It is "a gift," she says, which came at a high cost, but one she feels fortunate to be able to share with other families.

At a relatively young age, she is open to an experience some struggle with their entire lives – coming to terms with the end of life. She finds comfort and joy in honoring the lives and legacies of those she meets. Most are in their 80s and 90s.

She became especially close to a woman in her 90s.

"I loved being with her, all her funny-isms," Heather says. "We had a ball together."

It surprised her that someone in her 90s became "like a best friend. She always had the show 'Golden Girls' on in her house. Thank you for being a friend."

She began by visiting hospice patients by herself. After she got Tripp, she thought, "Millie was our therapy dog, maybe I'll make Tripp a therapy dog to come with me and help console others."

"I don't know if I would have been able to get through those days without Millie and my son."

Two years ago, she and Tripp completed training through Dog B.O.N.E.S. therapy dogs of Massachusetts in Scituate.

How giving comfort became a calling

When Alec was diagnosed with colon cancer in 2011, she began to learn even more about his inner strength and courage.

“We were young at the time, neither of us accepted what was happening, we held on to hope until the end," she says.

Walking her husband through the end of life was "a horrible, tragic, yet beautiful experience," yet also one she thinks of as "the ultimate act of love. ... I was proud of what I did for him. I think I did it well and I felt like it was a calling, that I can go out there and help patients and families in similar situations."

Since then, she has learned so much, especially about the different ways people approach the end of their lives.

"You have to meet them where they are at," she says. "Death is not talked about, and if we open up the dialogue, we can try to understand what patients want at the end of life. If they want to hold on to hope, that’s OK.  If they are ready to accept death, then let's talk about that, and share with them and their families the resources out there. No one has to go through this alone."

Some patients choose to have a legacy interview about their lives, their strivings, purposes and accomplishments. Some need to close loose ends, extending or asking for forgiveness.

Alec "definitely got it," she said. He "put everything that didn't matter on the back burner. He wanted to be out fishing on the boat and he wanted to be with family. "

At the beginning, being in the presence of near death can sound "terrifying, and although there are a lot of tearful, sad moments, there is also laughter and joy and beauty in being together," Heather says. "Showing up at the end of life for someone you love will likely be one of the most profound moments in your own life."

For Alec and Heather, family and friends, it was "a lot of tearful moments together but also a lot of laughter and joy. Being able to be there for someone is a gift I hope to be able to give. "

She loves sitting with people, learning about their lives, their proudest moments and accomplishments, what was important to them.

"It is something I lean into. I just think the end of life is beautiful," she said.

Tripp helps opens that door.

She calls Tripp "my goofball" because of his playful nature, but with patients, he brings a lightness and companionship into the room. The hospice staff also brighten up when he arrives.

"Sometimes, if I open a door and walk into a room, people might at first wonder, 'What is she doing here?' But they see Tripp and he allows a wall to come down, especially for new patients. Most families feel comforted by his presence. We do have to hide the desserts from him when we enter. He’s been known to swipe a cookie or piece of cake here and there.”

After she and Chase moved back to Massachusetts in 2017, she eventually met Jack Cady, who is also widowed (he had lost his wife, Andrea, to melanoma in 2011). They are engaged.

"Both of us having loved and lost someone, we can talk about it and it is always there," she said.

"We found love again and can create another beautiful life, a completely different life."

Reach Sue Scheible at sscheible@patriotledger.com.

Thanks to our subscribers, who help make this coverage possible. If you are not a subscriber, please consider supporting quality local journalism with a Patriot Ledger subscription. Here is our latest offer.

This article originally appeared on The Patriot Ledger: Scituate hospice volunteer and therapy dog help end-of-life patients