There's No Place Like Hope

An open letter, and an invitation.

Two Visionaries, One Cause

My husband, Dan Mears, lost his battle with pancreatic cancer thirteen years ago, on May 31st. It is a silent killer — merciless, invisible, and indifferent to greatness or goodness. It took Dan. It took Steve Jobs. And every year, it takes tens of thousands more.

Dan was brilliant. For thirty years he worked on a theory that most people couldn't even dream — that pebbles in the core of a nuclear reactor could regulate its own temperature, keeping it from running too hot or too cold, making meltdown impossible. He was called the Steve Jobs of Nuclear Power. He did not live to see it become reality. But his theory is alive today, at X-energy, in the Xe-100 pebble bed reactor — a technology that may reshape how the world powers itself. He poured thirty years into that dream. Pancreatic cancer took him before he could see it change the world.

How iPlaid Was Born

In the depths of my grief, I picked up my iPad Pro and began to doodle. What poured out of me was an image of a plaid — vivid, intuitive, alive. I knew immediately what to call it: iPlaid. It was made on an iPad, an Apple product, and I knew in my heart it had to be dedicated to Steve. The iPlaid Program was born — a series of digital images, each one first created in my mind's eye, each one carrying a story. iPlaid stands for Intuitive Passion Launches An Inner Discovery, and that is exactly what this journey has been.

Steve Jobs was the Visionary in Perpetuity — a man whose genius did not die with him but lives on in every device, every design, every idea he inspired.

My Letter to Elon Musk

The Tesla Model S Plaid returned in 2026 — refreshed, more powerful than ever, 1,020 horsepower and 368 miles of range. And then the announcement came: the Model S is ending production, with a limited Signature Edition farewell run of only 250 cars. This is the last possible moment — and the most meaningful one.

Had Elon not built the S Plaid, and had I not created the art that became the iPlaid Program, we would not have this extraordinary convergence — this chance to tell the stories of lives lost to pancreatic cancer and to generate the funds that could one day save as many as 62,000 lives a year.

So I wrote to him. I asked Elon to name the final farewell edition the iPlaid Tesla — in honor of Steve Jobs, in memory of Dan Mears, and on behalf of every family that has sat at a bedside and watched this disease take someone they loved. I imagined an iPlaid Tesla wrapped in the art image, traveling from city to city as a moving gallery — even pacing the Indy 500, where no pure electric vehicle has ever led the field. A moving symbol of technology, creativity, compassion, and hope.

"It is my deepest desire for you to join me — to educate, to motivate, to innovate, to celebrate, to inspire. The door is open, Elon. The name is ready. The story is waiting to be told."

I sent Elon a package: the letter above, the iPlaid Tesla artwork, a t-shirt, and a piece of the original art on metal — a physical piece of this story, made by hand, sent in hope.

Why This Matters

Pancreatic cancer has taken the lives of extraordinary people — Steve Jobs, Luciano Pavarotti, Alex Trebek, Sally Ride, Michael Landon, Donna Reed, my husband Dan, and so many others whose stories deserve to be remembered. It remains one of the deadliest cancers because it is so rarely caught early. Every piece of art here, every shirt, every print, exists to fund the research that finds it sooner.

In Memory

In memory of Dan Mears and Steve Jobs.

Susan Fielder
Founder, iPlaid — San Diego, California
susan@susanfielder.com