Obituary placed by Ransom Pruitt
Silvano Marcel who we knew best as Vano was the kind of firefighter folks carry with them the rest of their lives. He was a firefighter engineer with FDH, an EMT studying to be a paramedic, and somehow the kind of man who could walk into absolute chaos and make everybody around him breathe easier. Hell, even when things got ugly, Vano had this way of making it all feel manageable just by being there. He saved lives. A lot them them. Not just because he was good at the job neither, though Lord knows he was.
Vano was sharp as hell, quick under pressure, steady in all the ways that mattered. He was funny as shit. Dry. Dramatic. Smart-mouth city boy stuff that’d catch you off guard and have you laughing when you didn’t even think you could. He could tease the hell out of you one second then make you feel looked after the next like it wasn’t even something he had to try at. He treated scared people gentle. People outside the department saw a handsome city guy with style, sass and charm, but the folks that worked beside him knew the real part too. He worked hard. He showed up. He stayed steady when scenes got bad. He gave pieces of himself to this city every single shift whether anybody noticed or not.
But when I think about him now, truthfully, it ain’t the chaos that comes back first. It’s the quiet stuff. Glasses of wine on the couch after shift. Real emotional investment in old ass movies or Xbox games. His Chinese Crested Dog Francis curled up beside him spoiled absolutely rotten. I keep finding myself thinking about all them ordinary moments I didn’t even know I figured we’d have more time for.
Truth is, when somebody’s alive, it can get real easy to get stuck inside the hard parts. The misunderstandings. The hurt feelings. The bitterness. The times you’re angry with each other or too stubborn to say what oughta be said, but grief’s got a cruel way of pulling you back so you can finally see the bigger picture. When I look back now, what I keep seeing ain’t the arguments or the rough patches. It’s all them quiet moments in between. The life we’d been building. The best days. That’s the part that breaks my heart. Not just losing a firefighter. Not just losing somebody this city needed. I lost the man I loved.
I still ain’t figured out how I’m supposed to live in a world where I can’t hear his voice anymore. There’s people alive because Silvano Marcel existed. There’s firefighters and medics better at this job because they got to work beside him. There’s people like me still catching ourselves reaching for the phone to text him before remembering. Still expecting him to answer the radio. Still looking toward the bay doors thinking maybe he’s about to walk in late with some smartass comment ready to go.
Everything is quiet now. Wrong as all hell quiet. And I reckon part of me’s gonna keep listening for him the rest of my life. Silvano mattered. He mattered to this city. He mattered to FDH. And he mattered to me more than I know how to put into words. He was loved more than he probably ever really understood.
