My trip up north to see brother Mike

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 pickup. 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.

Have a good story? Call or text Curt Swarm in Mt. Pleasant at 319-217-0526, find him on Facebook, or email him at curtswarm@yahoo.com.