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My Brother John in Minnesota
My brother John Burgard poses at the Mississippi River.
My brother John in Minnesota speaks with a Midwestern accent. Even though I have spent more than half of my adult life in California, it’s still astonishing to me that people can hear that “Fargo” accent in my speech and realize that I was raised in Minnesota. They poke fun at what they call my Midwestern ethics. This is not to say that people from California don’t have ethics because that would be silly, but you’ve gotta admit that California is where the “dude, I flaked” mentality originated. I can hear the thoughts of my brother John in Minnesota, his voice in my head, laughing: Dude, I flaked.
Few in California are overly anxious to oh, say, wait their turn, yield the right-of-way, admit they were wrong, hold open doors for strangers, raise their hand, say what they mean and mean what they say, step in to do what’s right before asked, be on time, say please and thank you without fail; every person has her own agenda; I’m sure you know people like that. I know people like that.
Regardless, I am much more a California person nowadays than a Minnesotan. I don’t like to look at the weather forecast for Minnesota because it’s so cold. My sister sent me a t-shirt that reflects the sentiment of the weather in Minnesota, and let’s just say I can’t wear it on a plane or I would be ordered to disembark. I pay attention primarily to the weather in California. It is moving into the mid 70s this week.
Above is a photograph of my brother John in Minnesota, standing along the Mississippi River on the Minneapolis side that my sister shot yesterday. St. Paul is in the background. He has decided to stop his clinical trials at the U of M for stage 4 soft tissue Sarcoma. The tumors in his lungs are not shrinking any longer. He’s tired of feeling sick all the time. You can see there is no snow on the ground, yet usually March is the snowiest month in Minneapolis. Also, I noticed my brother is wearing new shoes. There are no leaves on the trees, and the ground cover is dormant. It seems sad and depressing.
My brother John in Minnesota says he enjoyed the sunlight. He was thrilled the snow had melted. Even though it was chilly, he looks forward to spring. He seems happy, as happy as he can be in his situation. He even argued with me, claiming that hummingbirds have more in common with insects than with birds. My sister hopes he lives long enough to take a spring cruise on a yacht (like the one pictured) down the Mississippi. It’s something he’s never done.
This photo is a far cry from the photograph I posted a few days of the flooded Sacramento River banks. We have deciduous trees as well in Sacramento, but they are budding now, plus we also have camellias, birds of paradise and many coniferous trees that retain green in our lives all year long. Winters are not so bleak. We are fortunate to live in Sacramento, whether we were born here or moved to Sacramento from elsewhere. Spring in Sacramento is a time of new life, new beginnings, hope for the future and faith that we can handle whatever life hands us.
The Undead No-Suicide Brother in Minneapolis
For all of my readers who often skim through paragraphs of my Sacramento real estate blog, let me start by clarifying that my brother is undead and did not die by suicide. He may be dying from stage 4 cancer, which was a bit of a shock to me, but he is still alive. The strange thing is I was thinking about him a few days ago while I was out in our 106-degree heat, riding my bicycle around William Land Park and listening to Gram Parsons / Emmy Lou through my Bluebuds. We were pretty inseparable as kids — a year apart. People used to think we were twins.
But then as things sometimes go in families, we drifted apart. It wasn’t a slow separation, my brother just decided at some point during his marriage that he no longer wanted to associate with his parent’s side of the family. Nobody knows why. We exhausted efforts to turn him around. It’s one of those things that one finally accepts that cannot be changed.
Which goes to show it wasn’t a completely odd reaction from me after a pair of detectives appeared yesterday morning on my sister’s doorstep in Minneapolis. I believe they were from the Hennepin County Sheriff’s department. The police told my sister our brother is dead. Committed suicide. Said he jumped off the Ford Bridge over the Mississippi. Since the river divides Minneapolis from Saint Paul, the body had drifted to the Saint Paul side, which was why Ramsey County health authorities or the Saint Paul Police department were also involved in the investigation.
My sister was sobbing. I was in shock. My brother committed suicide? Nobody in our family died by suicide. Although, everybody’s family is dysfunctional in some way.
Now, the Ford Bridge is by 46th Street, which runs near my brother’s home in south Minneapolis. It was conceivable. The detectives said he left his bike and guitar on the bridge. I could see that. My husband found a website set up for donations to help with my brother’s medical bills, but the funding had been cut off a few weeks ago. That’s how we found out he was diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer. A phone number at the bottom belonged to a woman. I called, she answered; I mentioned that she had my maiden name so we were probably related.
The woman appeared a bit annoyed and impatient. I tried to be calm and sensitive. Turns out she is my brother’s son’s wife. I asked if she was sitting down because I didn’t know if she was driving or what. I did not correct her, btw, when she said my brother has 4 sisters, which he does not. I quietly shared the news I had received about his death. She choked. Then hammered me for details. Promised to call me back after she spoke to her mother-in-law. But she never called. She must have found out immediately after my call that my brother was undead, but she didn’t tell me.
Later in the day, my sister called to say she had finally reached my sister-in-law and, surprise, my brother was sitting right there. Undead. He was now the no-suicide brother. The police had mixed him up with some other bridge jumper. How bizarre is that? You can’t trust the police when they show up on your doorstep to deliver the news a relative has died? All that emotional upheaval. Of course, it doesn’t change the fact my brother is still dying, probably very soon.
My sister asked if she could see our brother. It doesn’t look like that will happen.
It seemed appropriate to watch another episode of Fargo, the TV series. Just wait until his family starts searching online for an Affidavit of Death.
