It’s almost become a thing of the past:
J U N K M A I L
It’s almost a story no one would even notice or care about:
Richard’s
It’s almost a S H A M (E)
Funerals are a time to Remember.
Funerals are a time to Honor.
Funerals are a time to Celebrate.
It’s most likely why I really like,
yes actually enjoy,
conducting funerals. . .
I get to hear the most sacred thing in and out of this world:
S T O R I E S
I got to hear,
I got to facilitate,
I got to tell Richard’s story. . .
And now,
now like you,
m a y b e. . .
I get to tell,
I get to share,
I get to Celebrate,
I get to Honor,
I get to RE-Member it
He was an Everyone/No One. . .
You wouldn’t find him going viral on YouTube
or blowing up Twitter;
He’s not going to be a SHARE
on anyone’s Facebook page. . .
He had no LinkedIn Account. . .
or none that ANY would bother to observe. . .
Richard won’t make the front page of any newspaper
or the top story of any newscast. . .
He’s the father or an estranged son,
a brother of a disgruntled sister,
an uncle of a needy, not always grateful niece
and a f r i e n d
to anyone who ever sent out any kind of junk mail
promising to make you a millionaire for a mere,
new reduced price of $99,
or to feed a child for $5.99 a day,
or to provide clean water,
warm blankets,
medical care for $25 a month or. . .
Well you fill in the ________________________________________.
The more Richard responded, the more mail he would get
A S K I N G,
P L E A D I N G,
I M P L O R I N G. . .
He had three mountains of such requests around his chair. . .
ONE for Denying. . .
ONE for Considering. . .
ONE for Giving. . .his biggest pile by far. . .
You are reading this next sentence right:
HE BORROWED MONEY TO GIVE AWAY WHEN HE HAD GIVEN AWAY ALL OF HIS OWN
You are reading this next sentence right:
HE WAS FOUND A WEEK OR SO AFTER HIS DEATH IN HIS HOUSE WHEN THE POST-OFFICE IN HIS SMALL TOWN HAD MOUNDS OF UN-PICKED UP MAIL AND THOUGHT SOMETHING STRANGE AND INVESTIGATED DISCARDED AND DECAYING LIKE THE PILES OF MAIL SURROUNDING HIM
He received FIVE TIMES the amount of junk mail on the day of his funeral than people attending. . .
This man who just didn’t G I V E, but
G A V E W A Y,
W A Y,
W A Y U P. . .
up to a place
he dreamed on this earth
that would benefit family and friends
who long abandoned him,
but never the INVISIBLE HAND that kept reaching out to him
until it clutched his throat
and strangled him long before his death. . .
Was it Compassion?
Was it Love?
Was it Care and Concern?
Was it for some secret Redemption?
Was it a bargaining to get to some Heavenly Post-Office-Place?
Was it Blind stupidity?
Was it ultimately necessary?
What a S H A M (E), huh?
In more than just, both ways. . .
One person’s Heaven might be another’s Hell. . .
In Richard’s Heaven,
there would be
M A I L—-Lots of it—-
All handled carefully and respectfully and most of all:
A L L A N S W E R E D!
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