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!