From time to time, old “notes” on Facebook pop up in my memories. This one popped up three days ago, August 20, 2024. I woke in extreme pain and read it around 5:30 in the morning. I returned to bed, as I was supposed to be off work for the day. We had an employee emergency which forced me to work. In between God using Sweet Futina to heal my back and closing the shop at 8:00 in the evening, there were countless Godversations. In this moment, I am being directed to copy that note over here in honor of the Conner Godversation which lasted nearly five hours. Not to honor Conner, but to honor how God used words the Holy Spirit helped me to write in the thirty minutes after my daddy going to heaven. It is so clear to me that on this auspicious “birthday in heaven”, I must do my God-Directed best to retain the words given to me at that time.

Thank you, God, for all you have done, continue to do and will do in my life. I remain overwhelmed in the best of ways. I love you. For any unspoken requests on my heart, I entrust them to you.

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Tuesday afternoon, I had a powerful visit with my daddy in the hospital. I can’t find where I wrote about it, but I relayed the details to Chrissie, Bryan, Vix, Fred and Pam. There was love, light, grace and clarity in those hours. It was just me and him. Mike had picked up the kids for me so I could be there. I shared the details with him when I picked the kids up that night. A rare hug was shared between us. I know I shared with two people that his hug, in part, gave me the strength to get through yesterday. If my ex-husband can be Jesus to me without even knowing that’s what it meant to me, that is powerful.

I got a call yesterday morning telling me to come to the hospital. We were all there together. That’s all that matters. In that call, my older sister told me that late the prior evening, my dad asked my mom “Shelia, do I embarrass you?” Sparing his dignity, I will just say that cancer, chemo and such can certainly leave that question open to many interpretations. Mom replied, “Oscar, what are you talking about? No, you don’t embarrass me.”

In delirium, split realities, or maybe something else, my daddy replied to her, “because we are the only Republicans at the table!”

I don’t care about your politics. Daddy was a proud, stubborn and staunch conservative. And, hearing he had spoken those words made me laugh. Out loud. Those I shared it with also laughed. Julie and I found several other moments to laugh together. Like, remembering when her son was born. Wesman was a hairy little monkey, according to my daddy. But, he had told her something to the effect that “Julie, I was hoping you would have a girl so you would know what you girls have done to me. I wanted to come running down this hall with a black, leather miniskirt and a can of hairspray for you!” Julie can tell it better. It’s one of her Daddy memories.

Before they finally kicked us out last night, the last really funny thing happened with one of the doctors. He came into my daddy’s ICU room with his face mask on. Neutropenic precautions. I think that is the word on the sign. Regardless, in a rare moment of lucidity, he barked at the doctor…

“Don’t come in here looking like a terrorist!”

I will say that I have peace after my visit on Tuesday. I had more peace after leaving the hospital last night. Daddy had a cute little red headed nurse during the day. Tamara. Nose stud. I felt a hug from Vix and Court when I noticed her stud. I digress. Daddy loved him some red headed hotties in the 44 years married to my mom. Anne Margaret, for one.

Moving on. I met his night nurse at the 8 pm visiting slot. I asked her name, she told me it was Christine. I told her we appreciated her. It was only Julie and I in the room with Daddy. I told her my daddy served our country for 23 years, Viet Nam, etc. I told her she was taking care of a hero. She said she got chills. We talked of how she allows patients overnight guests, where some nurses do not. I said, if it was her dad or your husband, you would want the same. She smiled and agreed wholeheartedly.

I dug deeper. I don’t know why. Well, maybe, I do…but it won’t make sense here.

She shared her husband had died six years ago in Iraq. Deeper, I dug. I asked his name. it was Joeseph Bellavia. He was ambushed outside of Carbola with a Lieutenant Colonel.

She shared his last name, and hers, still, meant, literally, “Beautiful way.” I hugged her, she started to cry for her own loss…perhaps overwhelming gratitude to speak of him as her own hero.

My last words to her were that she had just given me chills. I whispered in her ear, “It is comforting to know Daddy will have a “beautiful way” on his way to more beautiful ways.

Christine Bellavia started nursing school with the support of her husband before he left for Iraq. She just graduated nursing school last December. She is in the ICU at Clarksville Gateway Medical Center. I don’t have the address, I’m going to ask you to google. If you have it in your heart, I would like for you to honor my hero, as well as hers. Even two simple sentences…but send her a card. Write it on a post it. A piece of notebook paper. That part does not matter. But, it would bring me some joy to know that she realizes how much she has made a difference.

Help me thank her for all her beautiful ways. Or not. I just know that it would mean more for my father to know another hero was honored than to have more flowers at his service.

Walter M. Oszczakiewicz, Retired Army Major, husband to Shelia, father of Teresa, Carol & Julie, Grandfather to Kyle, Wes, Blake, Morgan and Leah. A great man. Our hero. He went into that good night an hour or so ago. I hope he went gentle and with peace. I will miss him.

“and the likenesses I now find most notable…are not the hair and eyes which could be altered…but the qualities and character existing inside…which truly make me my father’s daughter…from the closing stanza from my poem to him on his 50th birthday.