Dear Uncle Mike

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A Tribute To Michael P. Lund

Hey there Uncle Mike. It’s Baylee, your favorite nephew. I’m writing this letter to you because it’s been far too long since we’ve talked and I have so much to share with you.
First, though, I feel like I need to apologize. I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve talked to you. In fact, I’m sorry I was so bad about talking to you when you were still here. One of my greatest regrets are the many times I missed your calls and didn’t return them, or how I ignored you as the emotionally cold teenager. All I cared about were girls and being cool then, and I didn’t do enough to just sit down and talk to you. I guess at the time, I thought I’d grown out of that. I wasn’t the little boy who’d spend an hour on the phone with you anymore, and dammit nobody could make me.
I wish I hadn’t felt that way. I wish I had called you more. I wish when I was in Texas, I’d made an effort to come back and see you. But I didn’t, and all I want to do now is sit down with you, have a pop and a burger, and listen to Johnny Cash and Charley Pride and Conway Twitty and just shoot the shit like we used to. You never saw me as an adult and I wish you’d gotten the chance to. For now, the best I can do is catch you up on everything you’ve missed. I’d imagine you’re busy chatting with Mr. Cash so you may be a bit behind.
I’m in college again. I’m going to be a news reporter, like all the years I said I was. I’m going to publish a book and I’m going to be famous, I hope. I’m going to dedicate this first book to you, Uncle Mike, because what it represents reminds me of what I’m saying here and now. I’ve got a lovely girlfriend named Natalie. I wish you could have met her, she likes Star Wars just like I do, but I have to teach her to love the country music you and I do. She would’ve loved to play with Jack too. I hear he’s still doing good, though he still hasn’t met Nash. I’m glad you got to meet Nash at least once. You’d love him and he’d love you.
I’m keeping busy. I’m working hard. I’m turning out a lot like you. Aunt Juanita told me that you liked old-fashioneds, and that’s my drink of choice. I have at least one for you whenever I’m out at the bar. My good friends, Luis and Ryan, took a trip with me to the Northwoods Tavern where you used to take me on the four-wheeler. It was closed that day, but we stopped by the Farmhouse and it was a great day. I’d love to do it again, this time on a day when the tavern is open. I can sit where we sat, eat a burger and drink a pop and just remember all the laughs and the stories. I think I miss those the most.
You died on December 12th, 2020. I remember sitting on my couch in my apartment in Texas when mom called. I didn’t know how to feel. I didn’t know how to process it. And I don’t think I have yet. I don’t think I ever will. I know you’re not here anymore because I can’t just call you up. I can’t listen to you sing along to Ballad Of A Teenage Queen or I Walk The Line in the tenth new truck you bought that year. We can’t go to the ice cream place in Wausaukee together anymore and I’ll never be able to smell the garage or hear the dogs go nuts while you come stomping up those garage stairs. The sound of that garage door spring as it was pulled open is a sound I’ll never forget.
I miss you Uncle Mike, but as Mr. Cash says, we’ll meet again. I’ll keep working hard so I can live a life that was as long and fulfilling as yours was. I love you, Uncle Mike. Save a spot for me, I’ll be along before we know it.

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