Tim Sheets, Brother
Four score minus 11 years ago, my brother was born upon this earth to create jokes, raise a family, and dedicate his later years to writing. His commitment to this endeavor was palpable to all who knew him through his tribulations with familial cancers. We all enjoyed the ride as he delved into this pursuit, which had been a lifelong dream.
He was smart—something that was evident as he zoomed through high school and college as if they were sidelines in his life. Maybe too astute, as his sharp mind plagued him with doubts about humanity, which led to melancholy at times. But who among us in our family hasn’t felt that? Our mother greatly suffered from bipolar fits of highs and lows, from artistic inspiration to bouts of self-loathing. Yar had some of those traits, but once the reaper turned the hourglass to start, he overcame those fluctuations and settled into the highs of self-expression through writing. During this period of enlightenment, we talked at length about his newly found friends in the cancer groups he and Bonnie attended and his resolution about his fate. But, as always, the discussion eventually led to politics and science, and it all ended with puns and jokes.
Oh yes, the king of puns and silly jokes—everything and anything that struck his fancy was always fair game. He delighted in a pun, followed by a limerick, with a smattering of personal favorites delivered in an Australian accent.
I will always miss those special moments and will never forget his dignity as he died. If there are new adventures after our last breath, I hope to be reunited with him to hear his latest jokes and hug him again.