Brothers forever - Empty Nest by Curt Swarm

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The call came while Ginnie and I were eating supper.  It was from a lady who lives in the same senior apartment complex as my brother, Mike, in Ashland, Wisconsin.  “Your brother's in the hospital.  He didn't want me to call you, but I thought you should know.”

Yes, I wanted to know.  My 80-year old brother lives alone, and has no spouse or children to care for him.  He had driven himself to a doctor's appointment, slipped on the ice, fell, and came to in the hospital.  He was confused, and didn't want to bother me.

I was able to talk to the doctor.  There were multiple issues—heart, urinary infection, high blood pressure, poor kidney functions, possible dementia, double vision, hallucinations—you name it.  I made a snap decision.  If I wanted to see my brother alive, I'd better get up there.  It's winter obviously.  I threw some things together and headed out in the four-wheel drive pick-up.  Ginnie stayed behind to take care of Buddy and Stormy. 

It's about a 10-hour drive to Ashland, which is right on Lake Superior.  It wasn't until I was halfway there that I learned I wouldn't be able to see Mike in the hospital because of COVID.  Drat!  I should have thought of that.  Do I turn around and go home, or push on?  Push on.  If he passes away, at least I'll be there to take care of things.  My sister and I are Powers of Attorney for my brother.    

I could hole up in a motel.  I'm a writer.  I'm working on a book.  I have my laptop.  I can use the time to isolate and write.  Perfect. 

When I pulled into the motel, which is right on Lake Superior (beautiful view), I noticed the Mexican restaurant next door.  Check.  At the front desk, I let them know the circumstances and that I might be staying awhile.  No problem.  Check Check.  I noted the exercise room, the morning breakfast, and the coffee pot, microwave and refrigerator in the room.  Check Check Check.  I settled in for the long haul and watched the two NFL kings get knocked off: Rogers and Brady. 

The laptop computer opened easily.  Writers love to isolate.  I was very productive and got a major chunk of the book written. 

In the meantime, my brother's strength improved, and many of his health issues cleared up.  It was determined he could be released to a nursing home.  He wanted me to pick up some things for him from his apartment.  I accommodated.  I also stopped at Walmart and purchased my brother a track phone so that he could communicate with us easier.  An old duffer in Walmart mentioned he didn't like the short, dark, cold days.  I told him I did.  That I'm a writer and writers love to isolate.  He shook his head and mumbled something about strange people.  BTW, it got down to -22 degrees below zero with a windchill off the lake of you-don't-want-to-know.  The truck still started, praise God.

At the nursing home, they allowed visitors with mask and face shield.  Ah, at least I could see Mike.  Oops, I forgot, he wants to be called Michael.  Whatever.  He couldn't use the track phone because of his hearing.  Tsk tsk.  Looks like I have a track phone I don't need.

The drive home was nondescript.  I sang at the top of my voice to sixties music, and made myself hoarse.  “Now it's Judy's turn to cry.”  I had been gone six days (six chapters).  Ginnie and Buddy were glad to see me.  Stormy, “my” cat, looked at me like, “Oh, you been gone?” 

Out of a family of eight children, there are just four of us left.  I'm the youngest, and now taking care of siblings who took care of me.  I already lost one brother in July.  I don't want to lose another.  I'm thinking Mike, I mean Michael, will regain his strength and return to his apartment.  Families take care of family.  Mine may be stronger for it.  Brothers forever

author, Column, Curt Swarm, editorial, Empty Nest, fort madison, Mt. Pleasant, opinion, Sunday

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