Michael "Mike" Kmitch

Michael Kmitch was born on June 4, 1944 in Melrose Park, IL. He lived in Avon, MN. He left this world for his next adventure on February 24, 2026.

Mike wrote his own rulebook, forged his own path. He was the coolest. He was the handsome-est. He was an enigma. He loved his "g*dd*mn peace and quiet," but he could pull up a chair and have the most amazing conversations with absolutely anyone.

Mike was a husband. A lucky man who left behind his wife of nearly 46 years, Karen (Reinke) Kmitch.

He was a dad. He raised five bad-ass daughters. He was fiercely proud of them all: Jennifer Tzar, Sheri Kmitch, Heather Longmore, Kassie Bradshaw Kmitch, and Kallie Wright. He taught his daughters to appreciate nature, animals, books, fishing, family, good food, a strong work ethic, and the art of debate. He raised them to know they could accomplish anything.

He was a father-in-law. He was loved and respected by his sons-in-law, Bob Longmore, Adam Bradshaw Kmitch, and Jordan Wright.

He was an adored Grampa. He left behind granddaughters Sarah Dallas, Ona Tzar, Maggie LaBuhn, Ella LaBuhn, and Penelope Longmore; and grandson, Elliot Longmore.

He was a brother. He left behind his brother Skip (Judy) Kmitch; and his two sisters, Linn Kampa, and Pat (Kevin) Zahler.

He was an uncle. He was loved and looked up to by many nieces and nephews, and by their partners and children.

He was a fierce friend to many. Mike was likely to call them brothers.

Mike was preceded in death by his parents, Raymond Kmitch and Bernadine (Kedrowski) Kmitch; father-in-law Donald Reinke and mother-in-law Verda (Kahlhammer) Reinke; as well as many other beloved family members and friends.

Mike served his country in the U.S. Air Force. He was a jet engine mechanic, who served during the Cuban Missile Crisis.

He spent his career as a long-haul truck driver, working many years for Fingerhut in St. Cloud.

Mike was likely to be found weaving tales, reading books, tilling gardens, planting trees, snuggling dogs, watching birds, listening to music, carving wood, making wine, catching fish, riding a Harley, having a smoke, drinking a beer, or spending time in his peaceful place, North Dakota.

He could always be found muttering the longest string of carefully selected curse words you've ever heard… chosen for maximum impact. He was a master of his craft.

He will be dearly missed. There was no one like him. He was loved more than any of us can say with words.

Please enjoy this poem, an attempt to tell Mike's life story in his voice.

______________

Lucky Son of a B*tch

I used to be an altar boy.

How that happened, I'm not sure.

Now my god is in the trees, the birds,

The sun, the dirt, so pure.

As a kid, I was invincible.

Made stupid decisions, I know.

I must have had an angel looking over one shoulder.

But that devil was always in tow.

October, 1962

I was in the Air Force, gearing up planes,

Scared sh*tless the world would end

Before the end of 13 days.

I drove a million miles,

Made my living hauling freight.

Kept my family going from that rig

From every state in the lower 48.

My relationship with my old man

Was some complicated sh*t.

Even now I don't think

I understand half of it.

But what I wouldn't give

for one more day, one more day.

Just to tell him that I love him

And it's okay. I'm okay.

I have five daughters,

They all drive me insane.

But I'm so damn proud

Of the women they became.

I used to be unlucky in love.

One day, that came to an end.

I found a woman to share my life,

To love. She's my best friend.

Those m*therf*ckers, they all said

I'd never live past 20.

But here I am at 80.

Life is funny. Life is funny.

And at this point in life,

All I need, all I want

Is some g*dd*mn peace & quiet,

A good book, and a dog.

I'm a lucky son of a b*tch, this much I know.

I've got no regrets, and someday when I go,

Just strap my ashes to the back of a Harley

And ride me down the road