The saying goes that famous people die in groups of three. Unless I missed the first one of this round of deaths, somebody's days are numbered after the passing of actress Janet Leigh and comedian Rodney Dangerfield.
For me, that morbid triple-play is complete after Lyle died. You don't know or have never heard of Lyle, because he was everything but famous. He grew up and died on the same island off the coast of Virginia, having served his community as fire chief during its most recent flood (in 1962), having helped build the first bridge to the mainland and having served as custodian in his church for more than 50 years before retiring five years ago. He was more than all that, though.
He was a warm, sincere gentleman his entire life. He graduated in the same high school class as my grandmother. He was sweet on her back then, but my grandfather beat him to the punch. Lyle took care of his wife, who slowly died of cancer. My grandmother took care of Pop Pop, who slowly died from complications of diabetes. The two reconnected for several reasons – they'd always been good friends, and they lived less than a block from each other. She'd call him "La," his high school nickname.
They dated in the sweet way only elderly people can. I think back on an episode that grossed me out at the time with a certain fondness. Lyle and Mom Mom were at one end of my grandmother's house watching TV. Or so my sister and I thought. Over the din of Murder She Wrote was the sight and sound of two people in their late 70s making out.
But overall, he took care of her when her mind was starting to fail. His heart was weak, and he had suffered some mild heart attacks before, but his mind was as sharp as could be expected. They'd drive over to the beach most days and look at the scenery, looking at the out-of-state license plates as well. Then they'd go out to eat. Despite his struggle to meet his bills, he would always pay.
I think his heart was simultaneously broken and at ease when my mom told him she was taking my grandmother back with her to Texas. The dementia had gotten past the point to where she shouldn't be living alone. Lyle could only do so much, and wasn't around all the time. My mom would call Lyle every Saturday from my granny's nursing home to let them chat. I don't know if Mom Mom remembered who he was. My mom has decided not to rile my grandmother with the news of Lyle's passing. That is a sad decision, but probably one for the best.
Lyle's health started to fail faster the past few years, the culprit being a life of hard work and intermittent health woes. He died last week on Monday, and his funeral is tomorrow. But I don't want to let that thought to be my lingering memory of him.
The last time I saw Lyle was three or so years ago while I was visiting there. He was as warm and genuine as ever, and still had his signature laugh. Although his breathing was somewhat labored for the last decade of his life, he could let out a cackle that could be heard half a mile away. And he cackled a lot while telling favorite stories from his past.
Different people earn stars on our personal walks of fame. Lyle definitely has one on mine.
I'm so happy that you decided to post about Lyle. These are the real people of the world. These are the lives that, taken together, make up the fabric of civilization. I wish I could learn of all the "Lyles" in our world and the sacrifices and hardships and high points in their lives. These truly "un-remarkable" lives are what keeps people human.
Nice post, my good man. Nice post indeed.
I hope that if I'm alone in my 70's, I have sense enough to sit at the end of the couch and do some serious smooching with someone as nice as Lyle.
To Lyle!
You know, I was thinking the SAME THING about the threes. Not about Lyle, but the threes. Weird.
Sorry to hear about your friend, what a nice tribute to him you've written. Thanks for sharing.
Eerie though, b/c I just heard that Christopher Reeve died today. I hadn't heard about the "threes" thing before reading about it here. Creepy.