“He lived his life with dignity, which is ironic seeing as how he will be eternally covered by a Cubs blanket.”
Two sons eulogized their father Thursday. Although both separately claimed they preferred to “wing it” with public speaking, neither wanted to "screw up" such an important moment and pulled out copious notes from their jacket pockets. Each told stories of life, love, smiles and laughter that encapsulated the spirit of their dad, Lyle. “I don’t call him Lyle out of disrespect," one son explained. "He was Lyle to everyone. My friends always asked me how Lyle was doing, even before he got sick.”
This was the second funeral I went to in as many months. The first was for a distant relative I had seen on and off over the years. In stark contrast to Lyle’s service, no one at the chapel of my grandmother’s cousin stood up to say anything. No family member. No friend. The ancient rabbi spoke about Mel’s love for the synagogue’s brotherhood, “It was a wonderful thing,” and for golf, “It was a wonderful thing.” He spoke of Mel’s service in the military, “It was a wonderful thing.” Generalizations punctuated by the addition “It was a wonderful thing” somehow did not seem so wonderful.
“When the doctor came in to tell Lyle he had terminal cancer, mom and I knew already and were braced to support him as he heard the news,” his son Mark explained. “Lyle just looked at the doctor and said, ‘So Doc….what you’re telling me is….I shouldn’t start reading any books that end To Be Continued?’”
As the laughter surrounded me at Lyle’s funeral, I started to wonder how I might be remembered. What have I brought to the table? Who would speak for me? These sons gave numerous examples of generosity, kindness, happiness and smiles. Oy. That’s a wonderful thing!
“The only thing Lyle hated was being late. If dinner was called for 7:00, he’d be there at 6:00. If the game was at 6:00, you’d better be in the car by 5:00. In fact, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t scheduled to pass until October.”
Lyle’s family credits his upbeat spirit and love for life in helping him live a full year and a half longer than what the doctors had given him. And he lived that time with a great quality of life. He and my dad went to the racetrack every week and laughed and laughed. I could tell that losing such a good, lifelong friend has affected my dad deeply. He called me twice to ask me to send flowers (I sent a vegetable platter to the shiva – much more practical these days). Dad reportedly has also started to look for his own burial site. He and mom think they would like to be buried at Memorial Park across the street from Westfield’s Old Orchard Shopping Center so we can wave at them from the car when we go to the mall.
Growing up, when the Chicago Bears played at home, Lyle and one of his sons would drive to my house before the game. They were joined by my mom's brother (with one of his kids) and my dad’s brother (with two of his kids), and my dad would choose one of his own offspring for the coveted trek to Soldier Field. The bundled gang of “Da Superfans” would pile into my uncle’s conversion van to head south on Lake Shore Drive. Between us, we had nine season tickets, but only one parking pass. The youngest kids always sat on the floor. Who needed seatbelts anyway, right? When my brother, cousin and I arrived at the funeral, Lyle’s oldest son, Brian, greeted us and told us how he stuck the tickets to that night’s pre-season game into the coffin with his dad. “I figure we won’t be needing them tonight, and he might like to have them.” After the service ended, the family members exited the front of the chapel to go to the limo that would lead the procession to the grave site. Everyone else slowly filed out the other doors to the parking lot to follow. I took that moment to go up to the coffin to say a silent prayer for Lyle. Head bowed, eyes closed, Mourner’s Kaddish in full mumble, I heard feet running up behind me, followed by my brother urgently saying into my ear, “Don’t even think of taking those tickets out of there!” I laughed. It’s a wonderful thing!
For Lyle G. Hochman, may his memory be for a blessing. Amen.
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