He gave his life away. Most people thought he was nuts, but no one ever said he was stupid. His own family knew he was different and just didn't view the world around him the same as others. He simply wasn't interested in the status quo.
He'd been homeless. It didn't bother him. He'd been wealthy. That did bother him. He dropped out of university after growing tired of arguing with professors - and winning. He didn't see the point in spending money for that particular piece of paper. He figured art was a better investment.
He inherited a house. It became his prison. A life sentence. His family figured they would be able to keep an eye on him this way. Only one problem; he was rarely home.
He was busy giving his life away. Minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. Whoever needed him, his talents or his time - he was there for the asking. He was usually surrounded by the mentally ill, the homeless, or characters considered unsavory by most decent people; pimps, whores, gangsters, drag queens, dykes, ne'er-do-wells. These were his people. This was how he spent his time.
His house was in a pleasant, blue-collar neighborhood - with a nice garden and everything most would want. To him, it was a place to sleep and wash clothes - not only his.
He earned decent money when he worked but rarely had anything to show for it. Now and then, his phone or lights would be shut off. He'd spent the money on others.
His family worried constantly. What would become of him? Why did he refuse to settle down and live right? Why did he spend his time, and presumably his money, doing God knows what.
His family slowly distanced themselves from him. This wasn't lack of love, more simply, they'd run out of ideas. It was like he actively refused to fit in.
Not long after his health started to fail, he disappeared from the world he'd known and loved. The street people didn't know where he was. They missed him, his attention, and presumably everything he gave. He was just gone.
He decided to stay home. His house was the one thing he hadn't quite given away. His family still kept a safe distance. Even they didn't know what was happening with him.
When he died, they found out he'd married. His family was surprised to find out he'd written a will. He left everything to his wife of twenty years. He left a hand-written letter for each member of his family. Each read pretty much the same.
"You always loved me and worried about me. For that, I thank you. Your love, however, only brought me sadness. You each had expectations of me. It was never my place to live up to these. You could never understand why I did the things I did. I never understood why you just didn't ask. I would have told you.
You questioned the people I spent my life with. You could never see the world through my eyes any more than I could see it through yours. Admittedly, I had little but what I had, I happily gave to those who had even less. People who didn't have the love and concern of family and friends. I was often the only person who would listen to them. I happily fed them. I clothed them. I helped them find a place to sleep. I put a few people through school. I taught some to read. I tried to steer them away from trouble.
Some people called me Preacher. Some called me Father. All called me Friend. I did as I felt my faith dictated. You thought I was doing something else. I believe that says more about you than it does about me. Maybe now you understand my sadness.
I considered the priesthood, but the calling wasn't mine. I considered joining the ministry. Again, it rang hollow. Faith is not a vocation. I lived my faith. I lived my life without fear. I could walk anywhere I chose to and knew I would find acceptance. I accepted those whose paths crossed mine. I simply tried to show the love dictated by my faith.
This was my status quo. It clearly wasn't yours.
I hope you all take the time to get to know my wife. I have left her everything. The old family home now belongs to her, as does everything in it. All of the antiques, the paintings, the silver. I never touched any of it. Instead, I allowed it to sit and gather value. I knew the time would come for it to be used again. It just wasn't for me to do."
The letters went on to state that his attorney had been instructed to fight any claims against his will. His estate was worth well over a million dollars when he died, although no one would believe it if they'd seen him in life.
He gave his life away. Even in death, he continued giving.
copyright notice © 2026 Michael C. Metzger
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