BE LIKE BOB

His name was Bob.

I mean, there were a number of other details I could offer up about his life.

His profession, for example (a lawyer). Where he lived (not the address, from memory, but I had been to his house a couple times, tucked away on a street on Geneva’s west side, not far from Randall Road). A few of the things he enjoyed (mostly involving grilled meats or making his backyard an island of nature in a sea of non-descript grass and patios behind privacy fences). Where he attended church (a not overly large evangelical Christian fellowship in Elgin).

And I could tell you he was married to Mary.

Yet, oddly, until showing up at his funeral and plucking a copy of the program from the table just inside the door of the church, even if you had offered a jackpot prize for correctly answering or threatened violence for failing, I would have been hard pressed to tell you Bob’s last name.

It’s not that I hadn’t heard it before. Certainly, through the years, someone had told me, maybe even Bob himself.

But while Bob and Mary have been part of our family’s existence for years – and indeed, an important part, by several measures – I had somehow only been in a room with either of them a handful of times.

And yet, here I was, walking in the door to a church to attend his funeral.

It’s not that he or his family needed me there. A quick glance around the sanctuary confirmed that.

In preparation for writing this piece, a few Google searches revealed little usable information about the average number of attendees at funerals in America. Some sources indicated that in parts of the world –pre-Covid, anyway – the number was around a few dozen. Some reports indicated a growing number of funerals are attended by virtually no one. Thinking back to funerals I’ve attended, professionally, as a journalist and personally, those reports didn’t seem to conflict with my anecdotal experiences. Perhaps that has been a function of smaller families, with fewer children and grandchildren left behind to mourn than in decades past. Perhaps it may reflect a more callous society, with many too busy or unwilling to pause for even an hour or two to say goodbye. Or perhaps it is the other way around: Not enough people who cared enough while they were alive to pause for even a moment to do what is needed to make an impression on others, for the better. Judging by the number of souls in the pews, though, that did not seem to be the case for Bob.

As the final minutes set aside for visitation ticked down at the memorial service, the church which could easily hold several hundred, was mostly filled. But that number probably didn’t include dozens more who had already arrived, paid their respects to Mary and the family, and then departed.

Of equal importance was the mix of people in attendance. People of different races, backgrounds, conditions, economic status, depth of religious belief, all numbered among those gathered in that church in Elgin that Saturday, around 11 a.m., to bid a final farewell to a man it seemed so many counted as a father, uncle, brother, colleague or friend.

Me? I’m not sure what you’d call me, in relation to Bob. An acquaintance, I suppose.

But what drew me to the back row of the church that day, like so many others in attendance, was a sense of gratitude, a need to somehow honor the memory of a man, a couple, who have given so much to our family, particularly in the constant love they have exhibited in helping care for my mother through some of the most difficult times of her life thus far.

Even from only a handful of meetings, I was among those whose Bob’s spirit had touched for the better. Judging by the stories heard at the funeral, and the number of souls who felt it important enough to be there to say goodbye, such generosity, principle and honor was just par for the course with Bob.

As I drove home that day the question lingered in my mind: Will my funeral feature even a fraction of the accolades, love and laughter heard and felt in the church that day?

Perhaps there are better ways to measure a life. But it seemed that day, in this case, the attendance at Bob’s celebration of life service could stand as compelling evidence of a life well-lived, and an enduring legacy well-earned.

“Be like Bob,” the preacher had urged those in attendance.

Indeed.

From one of the many whose lives you made better during your time on this Earth, whether you knew it or not: n Jonathan Bilyk writes about the triumphs and travails of being a modern-day dad who legitimately enjoys time with his family, while tolerating a dog that seems to adore him. He also doesn’t really like the moniker “Superdad” because it makes it sound like he wants to wear his undergarments on the outside of his pants. (Also,the cape remains on back order.)

Here’s to you, Bob.

Relax in the fresh air this summer with a new book! Here are two recommendations for your June reading list, courtesy of the librarians at Geneva Public Library.