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First place winner in Nonfiction category, Winter 2022-2023
some snippets from a man who loved to love by Ellie Janson
“hi el, it’s papa. just called to see how you’re doin. i hope you’re havin a good week and uh, i hope you’re havin a good evening. i love you, bah-bye!” he says in one of the thirteen voicemails i have from him.
“there’s no such thing as too much parmesan cheese! that’s what my ellie always says!” “that’s what papa says i always say, i said it once when i was seven and you always say it now” i giggle and he shakes the teacups in the hutch with his vibrant laughter, love spilling out of him so quickly that the room cannot contain it.
“faccia bella!!!!” papa booms, wrapping me up in a love-filled embrace after a brisk shuffle to the front door from his recliner…to him, simple “hellos” and “i love yous” are the best thing since sliced bread.
“gimme a call when you can, i think i’ve got some exciting news for ya…” he says in one of the thirteen voicemails. i call him back twenty minutes later. “ellie, it’s such a gift to hear your voice this evening.” he starts to cry, which he does often when he is overwhelmed with joy. “the girls we worked with in india, they haven’t had hardly any food because the city’s on lockdown, but someone got them lentils, so many that they shared with their neighbors and now we just have to pray that this blessing gets them through the pandemic, isn’t that incredible? and your friend is safe now, i asked pastor ben about her. y’know el, the lord truly is so good.”
“pamela, that was some good dinner, it was the best i ever had!” he states emphatically after this week’s rendition of american goulash, as if he hasn’t had it weekly for fifty-two years. she rolls her eyes, and he makes the teacups dance in the hutch again. he wheezes “oh pamela, you’re too funny. you crack me up” “no jack, you crack yourself up.” she doesn’t let anyone see her loving little smirk, but we know it’s there.
“have fun stormin the castle!” he jokes for the hundredth time as i walk out the door to go to the grocery store. i never understood why he referenced an epic adventure before such a mundane task. but then the last place he went was a deli. and he had the time of his life. he pulled everything he loved, everything he knew his grandchildren loved, off the shelf for a beautiful christmas dinner. a dinner he would never get to prepare for his family. later that night my father missed ten calls from his sister, and the next morning we rushed to comfort granny.
“i love you papa” i barely whisper, placing a red rose on a closed cedar casket. i begin to sob uncontainably as i walk away, receiving a hug from someone who isn’t him. i just want one more embrace. i walk to the car, looking up to the sky to remember the legacy of love left behind that i hope to show a fraction of from this day forward.
rest in peace to the most beautiful soul i’ve ever known.
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