I wasn't familiar with that phrase until I met Hollister. He told me, of his sister, "she's my heart." It made sense and, still, it didn't sink in all the way. I could tell why he said that - she was real and vibrant and, even in disability and declining health, more vital than most people could handle.

Tutti was larger than life. So was her brother Hollister. She gave Hollister a real surprise - she liked me. He told me that she'd never liked any woman in his life before me. They were both real - honest with the people they cared about - and I guess they saw the same in me.

I can remember visiting Tutti before she died. Her leg was broken and she wanted me to help her to stand up. I couldn't do it, knowing her condition, and she told me, "I thought I could depend on you." She didn't realize her leg wouldn't hold her. Hollister stayed in the hall while I was in her room. He couldn't bear being in that room and seeing her in bad shape. It was heartbreaking.

Now that he's gone, I know Hollister is my heart. I spent years learning how to manage that heart and learning how to protect myself. Maybe that's a 'woman thing.' From what I saw, he didn't protect his heart. He'd offer his shirt to anyone who didn't have one. When we got together, he shared his hopes, his dreams, and his fears. Strange behavior from a man who held others at gunpoint as he robbed them, eh?

His heart was large as the world. I heard how he got started down the wrong roads in life. He stole a figurine of a Santa so his mama would have something for Christmas. His reputation was tough enough that, when he got out of prison, police kept track of his movements. And, with a word and a touch, I could bring him back down to earth. He wanted to be better. He wanted to be the person his oldest sister, who ran an agency, wanted him to be. And he worked toward being that person.

Here, on a too-quiet night alone, I miss his presence. He probably would have been asleep, knowing that he was 'home.' On his own, he never had the experience of a real 'home' until he met me. Then, he took this house and made it his as well as mine. It's empty without him.