There are a couple dozen teddy bears keeping an eye on Aloise Phillips as she and her daughter, Lori Deschand, work at their sewing machines. More are perched and posed on cabinets and counters. The bears are growing in number on this particular day, but soon they will go to their new homes, and Aloise and Lori will start over again.

Aloise says: “It makes me feel good knowing I’m helping somebody over the grief of having lost someone.”

Theirs is a labor of love, for these are not ordinary teddy bears. The bears’ fabric is given to them by a family mourning the death of a loved one.

Aloise: “They’re made out of a garment the family recognized their family member in, so whenever they hold this bear and see it, it (becomes) a memory bear. It helps them to remember the person that they lost.”

Lori: “ … It gives you something to hug, something to love, and when it’s made out of somebody’s shirt, they love you (back). You know somebody loves you.”

The bears are a volunteer project for Journeys Hospice families. Lori lives in Washington state but comes home frequently to help out — and that means helping make bears. Together, she and her mom have sewn more than 600 teddy bears for the hospice, plus another 300 for family and friends.

Lori has an embroidery business and does custom sewing in Washington. Aloise, 85, (who pronounces her name like Lois with an “a”) had a home business as a cake decorator in Caldwell.

Aloise: “Every crisis in my life, there was a cake with it.”

And now, teddy bears are showing up at life’s junctions — for them, as well as the lives of people they don’t even know.

The bears weren’t always there. But when Aloise’s husband, Bill Phillips (a 25-year captain of the Caldwell Fire Department), died on July 14, 2005, Aloise became very ill. She became a hospice patient herself.

Aloise: “I was suffering a lot from depression. … I don’t remember, but I was sick in bed to where I couldn’t get up and even fix myself something to eat. …They came out and helped me. I was really just too weak to get up and do anything for quite a while.

“ … I never had any idea (of dying). That didn’t cross my mind. I wasn’t ready to die. I had too many things I wanted to live for.

“ … (But) when the doctor came out and interviewed me, I think he was pretty much convinced I was at the end of my life. I was really sick.”

Hospice volunteers visited, encouraged her, supported her; they sang and played music for her. Bit by bit, Aloise got well enough that she was able to graduate from the hospice program.

Before that, however, one day, a volunteer brought a teddy bear to show her.

“I told her, I’d like to volunteer to do something. At the time, I didn’t feel confident to drive, and I couldn’t sing. (But) I told them, ‘I can make teddy bears.’”

The rest is, as they say, history. Turquoise bears, purple bears, printed bears; big bears, little bears; bears made of shirts, bath robes, blankets.

Aloise: “Whenever we made a bear, the bears take on a personality. They’re not as pretty or as well-made as the ones you buy that are factory-made. They’re more personal.”

If Aloise and Lori know something about the person who died, they’ll try and incorporate details — like buttons in the shape of fish for a fisherman — to personalize the bears. Sometimes they’ll get a photo.

Aloise: “It gives us a little more connection. … ”

If bears are a therapy of sorts to the recipients, making the bears has become a sort of therapy on its own, too. Not only were the bears an avenue to Aloise’s health, but Lori also has her own stories of sewing through grief. She emotionally remembers making bears after her Aunt Shirley Phillips died.

Lori: “I sewed a few tears in there. After I did my crying session, I was able to sew (bears) and watch their personalities come out. I was thinking, oh, so-and-so is going to pick this one, and so-and-so is going to like that one. And, oh yes, this really reminds (me) of Shirley.”

They made 15 bears for Shirley’s family.

Lori: “(Aunt Rosemary) took them home, and she dumped them out on her bed. A couple of her grandkids were there who were really, really close with Aunt Shirley. And they went, oh, Aunt Shirley’s vest or her coat or her jammies. The kids, they really related to the bears we had made.”

Aloise: “We kind of think about that one, because when we make bears for other people, we don’t hear. But if they’re as pleased as Rosemary and the girls were, that makes us really happy.”

When a close family friend died, they sewed more bears. They took a bear to John Phillips, Aloise’s son and Lori’s brother, who had a massive stroke in 2004 and was dealing with cancer.

Lori: “We took one (bear) over and gave it to him, and John just hugged it and cried and cried and cried. I cried with him.”

Aloise: “We all cried. I made the bear out of a sweater that (the friend) had worn. John recognized the sweater. It gives me cold chills, because when he took ahold of that bear, started hugging it and started to cry — when you see a 64-year-old man cry, it just breaks your heart.”

Sewing will be a therapeutic way to help them grieve John’s death in November. Soon they’ll sew bears with his clothing, but until then they’ll make bears for others. And they’re making bears out of Aloise’s clothing — for when that day comes.

Aloise: “I don’t want to die, but I’m not afraid. … I don’t want to suffer for a long time. But I don’t want to rush it, either.

“ … (Bears) for when I die, the kids can fight over.”

Lori: “I get first pick.”

Aloise wasn’t making bears yet when her husband died, but Lori found a shirt that was the spitting image of one her father wears in a family photo.

Lori: “And so this is my Daddy Bear. … Daddy liked his shirts with two pockets, so I made two pockets. … Daddy Bear travels with me. … When I’m driving back and forth between here and Washington, I snuggle with Daddy Bear.”

Lori holds her bear and talks to it, much to Aloise’s amusement. Aloise is much more practical about the bears, but she teases Lori and laughs along.

Lori: “One night, Momma and I were working on teddy bears. … I picked up the bear and said, ‘Are you ready to go to your new home? Surely you don’t want to stay with me?’ (My daughter) just about fell out of the chair — especially when the bear shook its head ‘No.’”

As an example, Lori holds Daddy Bear in such a way that she can make it nod.

“It didn’t want to stay with me. It wanted to go to its new home.”

She hugs her bear close.

“ … They all have personality. This one, he just has a real loving personality to him. ... (She turns to the bear.) ‘Yes, you are. Yes, I love you. Yes, I do.’”

Know someone living “from the heart”? Idaho Statesman photojournalist Katherine Jones spotlights someone in the Treasure Valley who influences our lives not only by what they do, but how and why they do it. Do you know someone we should know? Call 377-6414 or email kjones@idahostatesman.com.