Spicy Love: The Wild, Flawed, and Unforgettable Romance of Nana and Popu

a not-so-perfect love story that lasted a lifetime

Most love stories are polished for the public — neat, tidy, tied with a bow. But the story of my grandparents, Nana and Popu, was anything but perfect. It was loud, messy, stubborn, complicated — and ultimately, deeply faithful. They passed away within four days of each other, but theirs wasn’t some dreamy Nicholas Sparks romance. It was a real one — filled with fights, forgiveness, fierce loyalty, and love that refused to die.

My grandfather, affectionately known as Popu, was born in South Bend, Indiana. In high school, his PE coach just happened to be none other than the legendary John Wooden, who would go on to become the iconic UCLA basketball coach. But Popu’s path wasn’t toward sports — it was service. In 1941, he joined the U.S. Navy and served as a radioman on the USS New Mexico during World War II.

There’s a family story that sounds almost too strange to be true: one day during an attack, Popu was sprinting to his post, headphones on and the wire dragging behind. A fellow shipmate stepped on the cord, pulling Popu down just as a plane crashed into his station. That shipmate? Supposedly Tom Bosley — the actor who later played the dad on Happy Days. Whether it's fully true or not, Popu always claimed they stayed close friends, and he would visit Bosley on the set.

After the war, Popu returned home and married Nana — a woman known for her glamour, sass, and love for a good time. Even just to pick up the morning newspaper, Nana had her makeup and hair done to perfection. At 94, her doctor marveled that her skin looked like she was in her forties. Her two favorite hobbies? Drinking… and drinking at the Elks Lodge. She'd then somehow navigate her way home, only making right-hand turns.

Their marriage was no fairy tale. In fact, they got married three times — with two divorces in between. At their funeral, someone called their relationship “spicy.” Truthfully, it was more like a reality show before reality shows existed. They’d argue, shout, and storm out — but they’d also come back. Nana once said,

“The only way to communicate with an Italian is to yell.”

That pretty much summed them up.

Popu's heart, literally, was a battleground. In 1976, he underwent one of the earlier open-heart surgeries. The doctors told him it might buy him five more years. He lived far longer, going through four more heart surgeries along the way — one of them involving pig valves. In hindsight, maybe we should’ve called him “Piglet.”

Then in 2001, tragedy hit when Nana suffered a stroke — then two more. The third left her completely disabled and in a vegetative state, confined to a nursing home. Popu, devastated, refused to let her go. Every day, he’d go to church and then sit by her side, begging her to live.

In time, his own health declined. By 1999, he too was admitted to a nursing home — and miraculously, placed in the same room as Nana. For the next two years, they were together again, side by side in a way they hadn’t been in decades.

And then came Valentine’s Day, 2010 — their 61st wedding anniversary. Popu passed away that day, like something out of a script. Two days later, the nurses found Nana crying — the first emotion she’d shown in years. Two days after that, she was gone.

For years we wondered why Nana lingered in such a lifeless state. Now, we believe she was waiting. For him.

Their love wasn’t tidy. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real. And it lasted — not because they always got along, but because they never gave up.

They were flawed, fiery, and faithful — together until the very end.