The body stays, and then the body moves on
And I’d really rather not dwell on when yours will be gone.
~Devendra Banhart
Grandpa Lewis—better known as Dude Carper—died on March 2, 2009. I was in Honduras. I practically grew up in his house, but I cannot remember the last time I saw him. The first time I came in physical contact with my family in months and years was at the funeral. I know in my culture it is quite common that we grow up, we go our own way, we leave people behind. But In all our capricious wanderings, in the deliberation of the next direction, it should be remembered that we, whoever “we” may be, only have a limited time together—a few precious ephemeral moments. And we choose with whom we will pass them.
For those who requested a copy of the letter from the funeral, here it is:
Dear Grandpa,
You are the first person I have every really known to leave me. For me, 24 years is a long time to love someone. I never told you how you were unlike any character I have ever known. You are one of those individuals whose originality inspires new vocabulary, one whose actions are worthy of their own terms. Some might call you unconventional. Those who know better will just call you Dude.
I will forever see you through the eyes of a little girl. To me you were Grandpa, who was always around, just like he was supposed to be. You were my pioneer, and my Oregon roots. You were the garden, Holly Hawks, Birchwood, projects made from trees, the fiddle and the Gee-tar; you were an unwavering comforting presence, always sipping from the same brown coffee mug.
I love your wooden inventions, Grandpa. I realize now that you must have always been thinking about your next project, keeping your eye out for the stumps that might make interesting tables. You were always thinking about the grandchildren, too. Your efforts to entertain the kids brought us the wooden crayon holder, the wooden car ramp, the wooden knife, and my personal favorite, the wooden mirror-shelf. I asked for a crescent moon with a star. You carried out my request perfectly. Did I tell you I thought it was perfect?
I remember singing with you at the Blue Mountain Fiddle Show. That was when I still felt comfortable singing in public. I sang Dolly Parton’s Coat of Many Colors and you accompanied me on the guitar. I still remember standing there with you playing next to me. It makes me smile to think how from that day on you broke into the song whenever I came around. When you asked me to sing it again at your 80th birthday party I was 17 and aware of my lacking talent. But I sang anyway. I will sing Coat of Many Colors for you anytime, and anywhere.
I am sorry I have been gone for so long, Grandpa. I am sorry I wasn’t there to say goodbye, or to tell you how I would miss you. Rosie found a spot under a tree for you. She says that’s what you would want, and I know she is right. And I will come see you at your tree, Grandpa, just as soon as I am home again.
Love always,
Your Granddaughter Hailey
