Uncle Mike, I just wanted to say thank you and goodbye

Last week my Uncle Mike died.  Born in February 1943, he was 80 years old.  He was my dad’s brother, 5 1/2 years younger in age.  It’s not a lot, but it never occurred to me they were that far apart in age.  They were very close, played music professionally together for many years, loved and respected each other.  They were brothers in the truest sense of the word.

When Dad died in February 2001, I often wondered how Uncle Mike dealt with the loss.  I wish I’d reached out and just asked, but in 40 years I can count on one hand the number of times I saw Uncle Mike, let alone spoke with him.

I loved the man, we just never got to know one another.

My Uncle Mike was married to my Aunt Sandy for 55 years, and they raised 3 daughters; Emily, Amy & Michael.  I haven’t seen the older two in many years (Em lives out west, Amy in Florida) but I love them dearly, they’re wonderful people.  And honestly, their mother is a trip.  From the first time I met Aunt Sandy (when I was 6 years old) to the first time I’d seen her in 18 years just a couple months ago, she has always been funny and dear and outspoken. 

At my niece Sophia’s graduation party in June, Uncle Mike & Aunt Sandy were there.  (I hadn’t seen them since Sophia’s first birthday party, she’ll be 19 this week.)  Anyway, Aunt Sandy said “Doug why don’t you come down and stay with me & your Uncle Mike for awhile?  You can smoke in every room of our house!”   It was such a sweet offer, I didn’t want to tell her I quit smoking many years ago.

From 1979, the original Morris brood:  Uncle Mike on the top left, Dad, Aunt Terry, Uncle Shane, Grandpap Morris on the bottom, Grandma Morris, Aunt Dena

He certainly was a good looking man.  My mom (who was a couple years ahead of him in school) often told us how popular Uncle Mike was with the girls, and how he became the brother she never had after she married Dad. 

I have a couple memories of my Uncle that I’ll always hold close to me; the first is one I’m not sure I should even be sharing.  In the fall of 1966 when I was around 5 years old, I was showing my sister Shawn the “barbershop” Dad had set up in the basement for my older brother Duke & me. 

The next thing I know, Shawn was in the chair and I was clipping her long tresses. 

She went upstairs to where Dad was in the kitchen with Uncle Mike.  Dad pounded down those steps and (in a moment of temporary insanity) began beating me.  I mean he was crying and frantic, I think he was scared Mom would come home from the store, see most of Shawn’s hair gone and have a heart attack or something.

Anyway, I just remember Uncle Mike running down those steps and yelling at him to stop and pulling Dad off me.  I never heard my uncle yell or raise his voice again. 

My second memory is from February 2001, when my old man died.  After the service, I stood alone in front of my dad’s casket and cried pretty hard.  It went on for quite awhile too, and the entire time my Uncle Mike stood behind me, his hands on both my shoulders.

It brought me so much comfort, him doing that.  I’m just glad I was able to thank him a few years later.  Rest in peace, Uncle Mike.