* I wrote a post about my uncle a few months ago, and this is the follow-up. I actually mailed him a copy of this letter and sent one to his personal and work e-mails. I also included a copy of the afore mentioned post, which pretty much says it all. I will not be ignored. Heh. *

Dear Uncle,

I sat down tonight to write you this letter after weeks of staring at the phone, dialing your number and then hanging up. I wanted to say some things but knew that the temperament of a phone call could be too harsh, words said and exchanged that could be misconstrued and twisted and used against either one of us, mostly I’m sure by you.  This letter is in black and white. It is solid. It is truth. You may choose not to read it, and that is your decision. But if I know you, you’ll read it. It may take a few tries, but you will. I know we are too much alike to not read something passed between us and our curiosity rivals that of the cat who allegedly died for his passionate pursuit of such. I also know that we are of the fiery temper and this is liable to end up shredded or aflame in some random fireplace. But don’t worry, I emailed you a copy and put one on the internet where it is bound to live forever. And if you want to talk about this letter to anyone, feel free. You certainly exercise every opportunity you have to speak ill of your family to everyone you see. I’m sure you think we don’t know about all of the things you say, but never forget that small town circles run deep and are far-reaching. You used to tell me that no one can outrun a radio or a phone. Neither can you.

I have always loved you. Through all of your bullshit and drama. You have always made me laugh and you can carry on like no one else I know with your quick wit and dry humor. When Daddy died, you were the second person I called in those screamingly painful wee hours when we were seeing our worst fears realized. I first called my brother who shares the same mutual disdain for you as you do for him. And then, I called you. I wanted you there to tell us it would be ok, to take us through the awful journey that losing the most important man in all our lives took us on, to take care of us. Like you promised my Father. The promise you have broken. The promise being picked up and delivered by others in our family, strong men who say what they mean and mean what they say. Men who haven’t let the business of a dollar get in the way of what’s right.

You like to talk about people. You talk about (name omitted so as not to awaken the drama llama) like she is no better than dog poo on your shoe, about how she has forsaken the family and is no good to anyone. And now, you are no better than she is. You have forsaken your sister, who looked to you for strength and support when the main source of her’s is gone. And where are you? Sitting on your porch a few miles away, stewing because you weren’t given anything. Bitching to whoever will listen about a Jeep, a boat, a pickup truck and a boat house, as if these were the most important things in life. They are not. I have heard you have problems of your own. Who doesn’t? In the two months since you have spoken to your sister, you didn’t have a minute to pick up the phone? To say “Hi, I know you are having a tough time, but so am I, I just called to say I love you.” You can’t even do that? You can go to the hunting lease just down the road and visit friends who live a mile away but you can’t take time for your blood? You are sorrier than the people you talk ill about. And this isn’t the first time. Remember Barbara, your other sister? Who you shunned for years after Grandma died and y’all fought over her stuff? And when she died unexpectedly you told me how you wished you hadn’t done it and that it was one of your biggest regrets and you loved your sister and blah blah blah more of your lying bullshit. You had me fooled into thinking you learned something from that.

So many people have told me to forget you, to write you off. If it was just me I probably could. But to know my mother cries over you and is hurting more than she has to because you are acting like an ass leads me to this. There is time for forgiveness. There is time to make it right. She misses you,  you selfish jerk. You still have a family. Be part of it before it’s too late. Or not. It’s your loss, and I hope it hurts you as much as you’ve hurt my mother. And then some.

Your niece,