My maternal grandfather, George M. Downing. His birthday is this week. He’s been gone near 25 years now; half my own life time. It’s his 109th birthday, I think.

He was about my age now when I was born. He seemed to know so much; seemed to be so much more together than I feel.

It’s been a long time, but I miss him still. I miss what I remember, I miss how his words and presence made me feel.

His certainty. His willingness to try. His ability to solve problems. Not always perfect, mind you, but solutions none the less.

I miss him. A lot sometimes.

He doesn’t know I’ve been divorced twice. He doesn’t know I have three kids now; his three grandchildren. Shoot, he doesn’t know my brother has a daughter too, an adult in college now!

I do hope over time and space and existence he knows I love him still,

I hope he knows the many lessons he gave us, the good example he’d set,

I wish I’d asked more questions, broader questions, and then listened more intently,

I miss you, Grandpa, and love you still, and strive to follow your example when I can,

Happy Birthday, GMD!