A Magician’s Journey: Embracing Peace and Purpose In Life’s Final Act

In a gated community nestled in Irving, Texas, a man sits surrounded by memories, artifacts of a life steeped in wonder and joy. Born in the Bronx in 1958, this 65-year-old magician spent many years of his life crafting illusions that brought smiles to countless faces. As he nears the end of his life under the compassionate care of Faith Presbyterian Hospice (FPH), he reflects on a journey filled with ups, downs and the ever-present hand of God guiding him toward peace.

Steve “The Sleeve” Schneiderman speaks with a calm that belies the gravity of his situation. “Life has its ups and downs, and you question the downs, but when you look at it over a grand timeline of life end to end, it’s amazing how many times you can see God’s hand in play.”

Steve’s story began in New York, but his heart belongs to Tulsa, Oklahoma, where he lived for 25 years before moving to Irving in 2018. “When people ask where my hometown is, I always say Tulsa. It’s a beautiful city, and that’s where I’ll be interred.”

The love for magic was passed down through generations. “I come from three generations of magicians,” he recalls with a smile. “My Uncle Harry had a magic shop in the 1940s, and when I was about five, he pulled a quarter out of my ear. That was it—I was bitten by the magic bug.”

Although Steve’s main occupation as an executive at Microsoft keeps his schedule full (even working a few hours each day from home while receiving hospice), magic is more than just a hobby for him; it is an art that shaped his life. Yet, as life often demands, he set aside his passion to pursue a corporate career. But at 50, a pastor’s simple question changed everything: “What makes you happy? What brings you joy?”

His answer was clear—magic. With renewed purpose, he began performing again, booking shows at the historic Spotlight Theater in Tulsa, where he entertained audiences for a decade. “It was a really fun, fruitful time. I was doing what I was supposed to be doing.”

A room in his home is now a mini-museum, filled with magical artifacts, some centuries old – a testament to his lifelong love affair with illusion.

But his story takes a somber turn when he shares the moment around nine months ago when he learned of his stage three adenocarcinoma diagnosis. “You’re not going to survive this,” the doctor said, tears in his eyes. It was a moment of devastation, but also of transformation.

“I just prayed on Christmas Eve that God would give me a new heart, a new perspective,” he says. “And when I woke up on Christmas Day, I had that new heart. Instead of saying, ‘Oh my God, this was the last Christmas,’ I thought, ‘How wonderful was it that I was there?!?!'”

Since that day, Steve has approached each moment with gratitude, savoring walks with his dog, looking up at the sky and simply saying, “Thank you for another day.”

As Steve prepares for the inevitable, he finds solace in his faith. “I’m not so thirsty for life as I am for heaven,” he says. “My faith is very strong. I feel like I know where I’m going.”

In March, as his health declined, he made a decision that would define his remaining time. He chose to focus on quality of life over quantity, embracing hospice care that FPH can provide in his home. “I’m not interested in prolonging my life with pain and symptoms. That’s not living,” he says with conviction. “I want to maintain a high quality of life, however brief that may be.”

The hospice team that has been with him from the beginning, includes LVN, Rhonda Taylor-Blair, Chaplain, Tim Kerrick and Social Worker, Anne Sanchez, have become more than just caregivers—they’ve become friends with both Steve and his bride of 30 years, Amy, offering physical, moral and spiritual support. “It’s been a very different experience than I expected. Very loving and compassionate. If I ever do wind up going to the T. Boone Pickens Hospice Center, I know I’m going to feel at peace with that.”

In the face of his illness and with the help of hospice care, Steve found comfort in planning his last vacation with his wife, a trip to South Padre Island. “We stayed for nine days, missed the crowds, ate at all our favorite restaurants and she pushed me to walk two miles a day on the beach,” he says, his voice tinged with pride and gratitude. “She’s been my iron, keeping me going.”

Looking back, he sees his life as a story with a clear ending, but the chapters leading up to it are where the true magic lies. “The past nine months have been like someone gave me a really good book to read, and I already know how it ends. But it’s those few chapters leading up to the end—where I’m at now—that are the hardest.”

Yet, through it all, his focus remains on making a mark, ensuring that his life mattered. “For me, it’s all about leaving a legacy. I want to know that I left the world in a better place, that I helped others, that I contributed in some way.”

During his final act, the magician who once delighted audiences with sleight of hand has found a new kind of magic—a peace that comes from knowing he lived a life filled with love, laughter and purpose. And as he prepares to take his final bow, he does so with the same grace and humility that has defined his journey.

“I tried to be a good man,” he says softly. And in the eyes of those who have been touched by his life, there is no doubt that he has succeeded.

by Wendy Van Bemmel