Family Visit with My Brother at Curran’s in Minneapolis

John Burgard, Elizabeth Weintraub and Margaret Burgard at Curran’s Restaurant

My sister-in-law’s godfather is one of the owner’s of Curran’s Restaurant, according to my brother, John, which is one of the reasons we stopped for lunch at the old spot on Nicollet at 42nd. This restaurant has been in Minneapolis since the 1940s, back when it began as a drive-in. There are not a lot of old places left anymore, like with any progressive city, the old goes away to make room for the new. We also stopped at Curran’s for lunch because I really craved liver and onions, but turned out that was not served until dinner. Well, grilled cheese sandwiches at Curran’s were fine in the cold, rainy weather of Minneapolis.

Especially since we intended to, pardon my pun, grill my brother about why he stopped talking to us all those years ago, all those years that were wasted, and why he waited until the doctors at the U of M gave him less than a year to live. Cancer waits for nobody. His response was to let it go. Even when I promised we would not make one comment nor further discuss the reasons if he would just tell us, and I begged. But he refused. Probably because he knows we would discuss it, analyze it, tear it apart into shreds, argue about it, apologize for it, just like any other dysfunctional family would do.

My sister said he would respond like this because she has asked him as well. We figured if we waited until after the chemo infusion which, by the way, is fueled in part by alcohol, and all of the pain medication was absorbed into his system, if we waited until he was a bit loopy, well, that was the time to pounce with our questions. Curran’s was as good a place as any. Sort of like truth serum.

My sister also said she has suggested that he write a letter to us, laying out the reasons, but I don’t want a letter. Especially if I receive the letter after he dies. Because then I can’t respond to it and it will haunt me to my death, that being what I could have done to be a better sister. The people in  a booth or so over must have thought we were nuts, given the topic of our conversation. But that’s the thing about family, you can pretty much say whatever you think and it is accepted.

Later, my sister confided that it’s entirely possibly my brother does not remember why he stopped communicating with us. It was so long ago. And that’s the premise I believe I will adopt.

I said my goodbyes. I am back home in Sacramento today and ready to finish out the week tackling Sacramento real estate. Will say I have developed a lot of compassion for my clients in these types of situations.