Grandpa's Last Stand He Made Lying Down

I started my days journey looking for your grave, grandpa. Your name was Louis Johnson, and it was said you were the last chief of the Lower Umpqua.

I hadn't been to visit since 1970. April 16, was it. No one told me about death. I had no idea what was going on. I remember sitting in the funeral home in the family section and Pirscilla Butler wailing like Indians do I would learn later. Dad carried me on his shoulders past your casket. I must have been 6.

"What's grandpa doing?" I asked dad when I looked down at your face that had lost its color in your death.

"He's sleeping," dad told me.

"Well wake him up," I asked. "I want to play."

Dad's tears flowed and that was the only answer he could give me.

When we got into our station wagon, that was when I knew. That which they weren't telling me. I knew you were dead, then, and I sobbed, placing my face in the window, wondering what I would do now.
And I remember, grandpa, your big body and how I was amazed that my arms could barely fit around your belly. I remember your Love, the Love you felt for me and dad. The piggy bank you gave me after I became so demanding for it. You wanted to keep it there, I wanted to take it with me. And I cherished that thing, especially since you got mad and it was the only time you got angry with me. But that anger taught me a lesson I will never forget. To cherish the gifts people give you.
You don't have a headstone, grandpa, so I took a photo of the woman buried next to you. Her name is Dorothy Rowe, and I mean no disrespect to her or her family. This is just a marker to remember where you are. Much Love and Respect to you, Dorothy Rowe.
And here you are, grandpa. I made all sorts of prayers and did all sorts of talking to you on my journey from Coos Bay for a visit. And your grave doesn't even have the little marker that it used to. It seems to be a silent momento to the greed our family felt in the money they received for the end of your life, if there even was any. I remember all those years ago promises made to purchase you a stone, but no one ever stepped forward. No one.

And a mystery has erupted in an earthquake that only I felt. I asked the groundskeeper for your gravesite, and he found an unclaimed site on the other side of you from Dorothy. A site claimed in the name of Johnson.
There you are, in the silence. Roxanna said she and Liz visited you many years ago and found your grave on accident, by chance. The little tin marker that is no longer there was then.

I miss you, gramps.

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