Michael Anthony Downey

“Every momma wanted a Michael,” Michael Anthony Downey liked to say.

On January 3, 1978, in Milford, Ohio, his mother Carolyn Sue Downey, his father Walter Anthony Downey, and his sisters Julia and Dawnice Sullivan got perhaps more than they bargained for when his brave spirit entered this world. On July 25, 2026, at the age of 48, that spirit left this world when Michael died unexpectedly at his parents’ home in Rising Sun, Indiana.

Michael brought light and love to everyone in his orbit from the day he was born — along with more than his fair share of beautiful chaos. As a child, he daydreamed, much to the chagrin of early teachers who tried to fit this curious, inventive, smart-as-a-whip child into boxes not made for the likes of Michael Downey.

But he didn't hold a grudge; his compassionate and empathetic soul didn't have space for ill will toward anyone, unless maybe it was those motivated only by hate. Even those humans, though, he sought to understand, because Michael saw the potential and the good in others. He just came that way, with an innate ability that so many of us either lack or turn away from.

Michael tried his level best to fit into a world that too often didn't know what to do with him. But if you knew him, if you were fortunate enough to call him your family or friend or colleague or neighbor, you knew that the problem was just with the world. Michael never stopped trying, though. The kid who sold Sam’s Club candy bars at a mark-up as a grade-schooler was definitely meant to chart his own course, and eventually he would.

But first, he spent some 20 years with a homebuilder, walking families through everything from their purchase to the design choices to the day they moved into their new home. Anyone who tried to manage Michael was certain to be equal parts frustrated and thrilled to be working with him, because this man could sell like nobody's business, even if his busy, busy brain wouldn't let him get the paperwork in on time.

During this phase of his career, he tried out life in several cities. Michael did always prefer urban to rural life, though he appreciated the peace of the countryside. He had an affinity for Cincinnati and Lexington, but his career ultimately landed him in Louisville.

It was here that he met his life partner, Ray Avery, in January 2014, and they created a home together on a tree-lined street in Old Louisville near Central Park. He and Ray rounded out their family with their stunning (and surprisingly chill) Husky, Wolf, and two very talkative birds: an African Grey Congo named Pig, and a Red-headed Amazon named Ham. Their late-19th-century home was always warm and alive with Ray's piano and cello music, gatherings of friends and family as they hosted holidays and open houses before the Saint James Court Art Show, and the clattering of Michael's shoes as he ran back upstairs to fetch whatever he had forgotten. On quiet evenings, passersby could see the glow of a television as Michael and Ray enjoyed the shows they loved.

Together, Michael and Ray traveled to Caribbean destinations like the British Virgin Islands, where Michael soaked up the sun (with appropriate UV protection, of course) and found stillness in his soul near the ocean.

Michael counted himself lucky to have seen some of the world — skydiving in Rio, ringing in New Year's Eve in Rome, strolling the streets of Paris. But he didn't have to go far to find joy. He found it — well, everywhere, that's just how his brain worked — but often in Central Park, walking Wolf and chatting with neighbors. That's where he also found the friend he would build his business with. What started as a text exchange about doggie play dates with Dana McMahan in 2018 grew into a soul friendship and a series of ventures together. After restoring a Victorian they dubbed Sleeping Beauty, in 2021 they bought and redesigned a 16-unit apartment building equidistant from their homes. Running the property became their shared work — always honoring their pledge of friends first.

There was an unofficial motto, too: "there's just a way you go about things." But Michael applied that well beyond business. And the way he went about things was to treat everyone — whether an unhoused person he crossed paths with, a tradesperson he worked with, or someone in his circles — with nothing, ever, but the utmost dignity and regard for their experience. Those closest to him know the toll it could take on him to put others' needs above his own, but as someone who felt, deeply, the emotions of everyone around him, he wouldn't have had it any other way.

As much as he radiated love to everyone who got to live in his light, above all, Michael Downey loved his mom. If you saw him with her, you felt that love viscerally, especially as she grew older and sometimes, to his heartbreak, might not quite recognize him.

He took Carolyn to a nail salon for a pedicure a couple of years ago, and when he knelt on the floor to help her with her shoes, every woman in the place looked on with a wish written in their eyes: they wanted a man like Michael Downey in their lives. And these women didn't know the half of it: the fresh flowers he always brought her, not to mention to friends and even to mothers of friends. The unflagging patience and insistence on treating every moment with her like it mattered the most. Because he knew that it did. The way he would hold her hand and assure her he was there. Because somehow, if Michael Downey hugged you or put his arm around you, you knew everything would be okay.

Michael’s love, like sunlight, knew no bounds. He nurtured a connection with his niece Alyssa Sullivan right from the delivery room where he stood with his sister Julia. And who else but Michael Downey would pack presents in a checked bag and fly to Florida for a single day just to pile them under a hotel Christmas tree? As Alyssa grew up as strong and brave as her beloved uncle, he positively glowed with pride whenever he mentioned her name (which was often). To stand with this young woman now, alongside her partner Daniella Estrada-Torres, is to stand in the light he poured into her.

He was the uncle every kid would wish for. To Dawnice's children, Chris and Heather, he was the cool one who would gleefully rub his hands together anytime he was excited about something, who would pop wheelies with them on board the four-wheeler, who'd be just as likely to take them on a GameWorks run on a school night as to Niagara Falls in the summer. And as ever, to show up with Christmas gifts wrapped as perfectly as any in a department store showcase.

Michael shared a bedrock connection with Julia, too, one that's rare among siblings. Whatever one needed the other for, there was no need to even ask. Meanwhile he took all the shit she would give him with a full-body laugh, while loving her as fiercely and loyally as only a little brother can. He wanted nothing more than for his sister to have the life he knew she deserved. Which is what Michael wanted for everyone, most especially for his family.

And while many adult children might schedule a weekly call with their parents (if that), until the last day of his life, Michael spoke with his father nearly every day. He all but wore a rut in I-71 from his drives to his parents' Indiana home, where he supported his father in caring for his mother.

That boundless love encompassed all of his family and friends, and through some divine magic — and with more room than we might think any human heart has capacity to hold — he could be "my person" to every one of them.

When Michael was your person, he would drop everything to take you to the doctor, or sit with your children, or take care of your incontinent elder dog (and show up when you put that dog to sleep), or bring you flowers — always with the flowers — or coach you for a job interview, or negotiate a big sale or purchase with you, or shovel your driveway in a freak blizzard at 10 p.m., and no matter what he was doing for you, somehow convince you the honor was his. In the words of a lifelong friend: when Michael was your person, you felt seen. You felt safe. You felt loved.

And you didn't have to be a friend or someone Michael even knew well to feel this. When a young first-time renter didn't have a way to get to an apartment showing at his building, Michael drove across town to bring him there. He couldn’t even walk past a bit of rubbish on the ground without picking it up, because he knew everyone deserved to live amidst beauty.

All of this can't scratch the surface of a soul we know was entirely too good for this world. Cliché, yes, but Michael knew sometimes there are clichés for a reason. Those of us suddenly lost without our person are calling on his light and energy now. We couldn't have imagined this need, any more than we could have imagined the sun leaving the sky. But we know, too, the strength that fueled Michael — and if he could be so brave and strong in this life, we must be, too. We're finding balm for our raw souls in knowing that the worries Michael carried have lifted from him, that the peace he so very much deserved is his. That he is everywhere if only we'll look. That he will never leave us, because he is us.

Every momma wanted a Michael. His mom was blessed with her own, and we are all so very grateful that she shared him with this world.

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Michael would never sign off on any listing of surviving family and friends because any version created without him would leave out too many people. But we are taking the liberty of noting the following important family names that must be included among those who greatly grieve his loss: his life partner Ray Avery; his mother Carolyn Sue Downey and his father Walter Anthony Downey; his sisters Julia and Dawnice Sullivan; his niece Alyssa Sullivan and her partner Daniella Estrada-Torres; his nephew Chris Serger and his fiancée Amber Arrowood, and their children Nathaniel, Makayla, and Xander; his niece Heather Wright and her husband Joe, and their children Jocelyn and Jaxton; and his godson Jaxon Richard Rose. And countless friends, who all know he sees them.

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All are invited to visitation at Newcomer Funeral Home, 235 Juneau Dr., Louisville, KY 40243 on Sunday, August 2 from 2 to 4 p.m., with a celebration of life taking place from 4 to 5 p.m.

Michael would never say no to flowers. Those who wish to honor him another way are invited to make a gift in his and Carolyn Downey’s name to the Alzheimer's Association , which supports the search for a cure, care for families living with the disease, and advocacy on their behalf.

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