Ruth House
For many years after our father's death my brother Jim was my best friend. Even before that--despite the difference in our ages-- we were close. We enjoyed each other.
Jim was innovative. As children, we were one person short of enough players for flag football. So we adapted the rules to play "Bone Ball" hoping my dog Laddie would join in. He did. And Laddie's team always won: he would not easily part with the ball, er, bone.
Jim was funny. A downed telephone line during a storm disconnected his call with a client. The ATT operator he contacted said she would call his direct line when she could reconnect the call. When Jim answered the phone about an hour later, she asked, "Mr. Shyster?" "No," Jim said without hesitation. "Shyster is my profession; Sizemore is my name."
Jim was supportive. On short notice, I once arrived at his house and stayed for a week. I needed refuge--a safe place to work through a difficult and painful decision. He gave me space when I needed to think and he gave me time when I needed to talk.
Jim was resilient. His body declined but his spirit remained strong. Even as his body grew weaker, we had animated and fascinating conversations. We laughed. His last gift to me was the example of his own full engagement in life for as long as it lasted.
I miss him.
Ruth House
