Crying in the Post Office Parking Lot

I check my mail everyday. Because I am in the habit of sending letters, notes, and postcards on an almost daily basis, I have a reasonable expectation of receiving mail everyday.

A few weeks back, I found a 6"x9" manila envelope in my box with the familiar handwriting of Dave Freeman. He uses a black Sharpie. I don't remember in what capacity Dave and I began exchanging correspondence as I belong to more than a few mail exchange sites. And I don't remember what conversation led Dave to start sending me used postage stamps.

I don't know stamp collecting terms other than philately. And I don't know exactly how Dave was involved in stamp collecting/selling. I do know that he told me that, normally, he would just throw away the "commons" that had no real value, but he would rather send them to me if I could use them for collage or crafts. I told him that that would be great. Periodically, I would receive these 6"x9" envelopes stuffed to the flap. Once, he sent me a 4 lb. package and another time a 2 lb box. I didn't count, but I'm thinking there may have been a million stamps in these combined packages. He also told me that he starts an envelope for me as soon as he sends the last one and just fills it as he goes. These packages include MANY multiples and often come from the same countries, but every package has a few new ones. Each package has been a treat. I have used them in all sorts of ways, and I have shared them whenever I can.

In return, Dave asked that I send him some of the postcards that I have designed so that he could use them when he sent out orders. I considered that more than a fair trade. He was always excited to tell me where my postcards had been sent in the world.

I don't open my mail in the post office, but in my vehicle before I leave the parking lot. I do this mainly because my pocket knife is in the car, and I use it for clean, easy opening of my mail. Dave's envelope was not as full as usual, but I know to look for his note on the side of the envelope, and that's where I found the typed note from his sons telling me that Dave had passed away unexpectedly at the beginning of March. And there I was, crying in the parking lot. (And I'm crying again.)

Dave and I probably only had between 20-30 exchanges, and I have no idea what he looked like. He did speak of his sons and some about his daily life. But as I shared the stamps he sent, I told everyone about him sharing these stamps that I was sharing with them. And I'm writing this because I don't want Dave and his generosity to be forgotten. (If you'd like some stamps, please let me know.)

I write blogs and send letters and cards and notes and postcards to make connections. And these connections make a difference in my life. They make my life and living better. I will truly miss finding envelopes with Dave's handwriting in my box. Thank you Dave, and every friend that reads this blog or writes me a note or card or letter. You matter to me.