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!