As Steve debilitated further he became bedridden. Lack of mobility enhanced blood clot production in his body. One of the clots passed through his lungs. He lingered between life and death in the hospital for thirty-six hours before his condition stabilized.
During this period, with blood thinners as the only drug entering his body, Steve spoke of seeing Jesus and his long deceased grandfather. I read aloud at his bedside. His favorite Psalm, the twenty-third, gave him comfort. After a peaceful two-hour nap, Steve told me Jesus talked to him, “I’m not ready for you yet. Don’t be afraid, I will take care of you.” Steve also spoke of seeing his Grandpas Masters who comforted him. This was the same grandfather mentioned in my previous post, The Message. He recovered from the blood clots, but was too weak to be cared for at home. He was transferred to a nursing home in the Greenville area and later to Roger C. Peace Rehab in Greenville.
Even though Steve was on Medicare due to his disability the payments ran out in one hundred days, when hospitalized. There were also items within the one hundred days that weren’t covered. Five months in rehabilitative care drained finances needed for our daughter’s college expenses. Stacy, our beloved caregiver, had to leave us. Of necessity, we hired Pops, a strong, male caregiver. Steve decided the tractor he used on his beloved farm should be sold. “I wanted to keep it because it represented a hope that somehow I’d get well enough to get back on it again.”
We grieved over the decision to sell our cherished lake retreat Steve’s parents had helped us purchase. It was the end of the recreational lifestyle we had once enjoyed as a family. At that point, if depression could have been sold from our house we could have fully funded our money problems.
Others were making sacrifices for our needs. Two church congregations proved to be financial mainstays, Calvary Moravian, Winston-Salem, NC and St. John Lutheran, Walhalla, SC. My sister established a cooperative respite care fund between her church and ours.
One afternoon the secretary of our local church called to tell me about it. “Your sister called, a respite care fund is in place at her church. We’ll announce the fund in the bulletin this Sunday as a line item on the budget here. We’ll write a check to you at the end of each month as people donate. The funds from her church will be added to ours as they arrive.”
I began to cry as she explained the procedure to me. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “I’ve always made my own way and given to others when they had a problem. I just don’t know how to receive,” I sobbed. My pride at being independent was crushed. The bitter pill of chronic illness tasted even more acrid. Our wonderful church secretary reminded me of an important fact, people were putting feet on their prayers for us; I was watching faith grow to full flower in the vineyard of God’s work. She reminded me that this was the essence of the term, “church family.”
Each month the donated funds were depleted to pay caregivers and each new school year I wondered how I would pay for someone to care for Steve so that I could return to work. The uncertainty of signing my teaching contract was especially great the spring of 1991.
“Lord, you know the money isn’t there to pay a caregiver!” I prayed, “Please show me what to do.” I felt impressed with a deep sense of unconditional trust and signed my teaching contract on faith. September came and financial burdens swelled with each passing day.
Our pastor stopped by regularly for visits. One mid-September afternoon proved to be especially memorable. “Ann, sit down, we need to talk,” he said. “Someone’s heart has been impressed with your needs,” he explained. He handed me a check in the amount of $10,000, just enough to cover our expenses for that school year. The identity of this generous donor remains anonymous.
The generosity of friends was apparent in the love sent our way. They delivered food to our door. When Steve was no longer able to eat by himself they stayed and fed him. The feet of the faithful grew stronger. “We’re here to rake your leaves,” the Lutheran youth declared. A group of eager young faces gathered on our front porch. They worked all day for the cups of water I took them and the desire to love our family with deeds of care.
Friends offered free publicity in my search to find volunteers to read to Steve so that I could exercise. My fifteen year-old son needed respite from being the primary caregiver some afternoons and many nights. I had continued my education at Clemson University and was in the last year of my Masters work there. The response for help was overwhelming; I had to turn people away. Steve became fast friends with each man and woman who answered the call and they were encouraged by their visits with him. He provided humorous, intelligent conversation and lifted the spirits of each reader.
Soon after the reading group was formed, I met another young man who volunteered to care for Steve when I had to attend night meetings. He was a soothing balm after a stressful day, and became the light in our daughter’s eyes when she visited from college. I was about to lose a night volunteer and gain a son-in-law.
By the end of 1993, Steve was only able to move his head and neck. Our daughter’s wedding in 1995 was a miracle of cooperation. The local hospice organization provided help dressing Steve in his tuxedo. Pops, our dedicated caregiver, drove him to the church. Mike, pushed his dad down the aisle of the church as Stephanie walked beside him. When asked, “Who gives this woman in marriage?” Steve was able to answer, ‘her mother and I.” He practiced those words for many days before the wedding. His speech had become altered to just above a whisper. We enjoyed a beautiful wedding and reception as a complete family.
Steve Massey gained his resurrection body, January 31, 1996. He had told me repeatedly, “Don’t cry for me, I’ll have my resurrection body.” I did cry for what might have been. He wanted to be an active and healthy witness for Christ. He did witness to others who visited him. His battle changed my appreciation for simple pleasures. During the last stages of his illness, Steve was robbed of daily contact with the out of doors. Sometimes, during his illness, I brought leaves into the house for him to feel on his face. As a result, I absorb blue skies and colored leaves instead of merely glancing at them.
Near the end of his life, Steve counted his disease as a blessing. “While lying on my back, looking up, God filled me with His love.” If I had never contracted MS, I would have gone on putting everything else in my life first except my faith.”
Invaded by faith or a dread disease? Ponder the mystery, it is God’s to reveal when we see Him face to face.
Steve won first place as rep who brought the most power load to the Duke Power system. This is the awards banquet in Charlotte, NC–circa 1980.
Steve attended Clemson University for one year. He was asked to come home because his sister, eighteen months younger wanted to go to college. He started with Duke after his tenure in Basic Training at Fort Jackson. He climbed utility poles and eventually worked his way up to Commercial Marketing Rep. Even after his promotions, he was called out to spot the source of power outages in substations. He couldn’t stay home to play with us in the snow, but we knew when Ma Duke ‘came up’* to warm us that he could come home! *came up is Ma Duke’s term for a restart.
Start-up of Haywood Mall. Steve sized the load. He told me he was saying, “Go guys!” in this picture. There was a collective sigh of relief from a lot of Ma Duke’s children at that point.