A eulogy read at the funeral for Sam, who died after a courageous battle with lymphoma

The day before I departed for a short vacation recently, I was running all around Middleburg tying up loose ends—go to the post office, go to the bank, go to the bakery, of course—before heading out of town the next morning.

And then I saw The Truck. The FedEx truck.

It was parked in the lot behind the Common Grounds and there was no one in the driver's seat. The gregarious guy who should have been there was gone, but surely will never, ever be forgotten.

As far as I'm concerned, no one will ever replace the man who was always in that driver's seat for most of the last 25 years.

That would be my friend—and virtually everyone's friend around these parts—Sam Coleman.

Sam, Sam The Fedex Man.

That was the headline on a story I wrote back in 2014 about Sam, and the reaction to the piece after it ran was unlike almost anything I'd ever written over many years as a journalist. I got phone calls. I got texts. I got e-mails. I got stopped on the street, waiting on line at the Safeway, pumping gas at the Exxon station.

Everyone wanted to stop and talk a bit about Sam Coleman, share a favorite story or just say thanks for shining a light on a remarkable human being who touched so many lives around these parts for so many years.

Sam Coleman was far more than an anonymous fellow who delivered packages to your house, your store, your office, your farm. He was a man with a smile that seemingly never left his face. As I wrote back then, at one time or another, Sam believed he'd knocked on every business office door in Middleburg, visited every shop in town, stopped by virtually all the single family homes, townhouses and apartments in the village, and was a regular presence at every farm and estate all around.

Even at the busiest times of the year—like right now during the Christmas season—he never seemed rushed or in a hurry. He knew everyone by name, knew their kids names and often their kids kids names, as well. There was always time to ask how you were doing, what was going on, how's your sore back or your golf game?

And for me, the semi-retired sportswriter, it was often 'what in heck is wrong with those Redskins?'

Sam was as fond of this town as the townspeople were fond of him.

"Over the years, I've made a lot of friends out there," Sam once told me. "I enjoy the people I deliver to. It's almost like one big happy family. I see people, and I greet them. I enjoy talking to them. I guess I've made friends that will last a lifetime."

For most of his 25 years working in and around Middleburg, Sam punched in at 6:15 a.m. in Herndon, where he picked up his truck filled with items earmarked for delivery in this area. He often put in 11 and 12 hour days by the time he got back home to Sterling, to his wife and children who he adored. But Sam was hardly the complaining type.

That's not how he was raised growing up in Pine Bluff, Ark., in a family of seven children, with a dad who worked for the railroad and a mom who taught school and had a number of jobs in retail.

Sam was a fine athlete, just like his little brother Monte Coleman, an 11th-round draft choice of the Washington Redskins who played on three Super Bowl championship teams. Sam played baseball and football, starting at quarterback at Central Arkansas University his first three years and moving to safety as a senior.

He wasn't drafted, had tryouts with the Redskins and Dallas Cowboys in 1980, but did not make either team and knew it was time to get down to business. He had a good friend living on the west coast, and that's where he headed after college. For nine years, Sam worked in the security department at the University of Southern California. When Monte opened a fishing and tackle store in Herndon in 1989, he asked Sam to come east and help him run it.

The next year, Monte was named head football coach at Arkansas-Pine Bluff college, and closed the business. Sam liked the area and had heard from one of his old customers that FedEx was starting to hire. He signed on as a "cover driver," filling in all over Northern Virginia if the regular driver called in sick or was on vacation.

The Middleburg route came open in 1994, and Sam began heading in this direction ever since, delivering or picking up packages of all sizes, all the way up to the allowed limit of 150 pounds.

The day I interviewed him, I asked him about some of the more unusual items he had ever handled. He laughed out loud and immediately mentioned breeding season at the local cattle and horse farms.

"You know," he said. "That would be sperm."

And then Sam smiled and laughed out loud.

I know Sam is now free of pain and smiling somewhere else these days. And just the thought of him rolling down the window of his truck and yelling across the street—"hey Lenny, what's wrong with those Redskins!!!"—brings a smile to my own face, and warms my heart.

I also suspect that I speak for countless local folks who's lives he touched and feel the same way I do. I just know whenever I— and probably you— spot a FedEx truck in town, we'll forever more be thinking about only one special fellow.

That would be my friend, and your friend.

Sam The FedEx Man. Rest in peace, my friend. Rest in peace.