Moms and dads, newborns and military veterans, murder victims and Holocaust survivors, are sitting in local morgues and unmarked graves in the Philadelphia suburbs.

Hundreds of unclaimed dead — an invisible, growing burden — force local governments to spend more time, resources, and tax money. Coroners have become the undertakers of last resort.

Who were these unclaimed souls? For months, reporters Jo Ciavaglia and James McGinnis labored to find and tell their stories.

We found some served in World War II. Others died on the job, thousands of miles from home. A few remain total mysteries with no public footprint.

The reasons the dead go unclaimed are as different as the ways they died. But they share similar traits including poverty, family estrangement, and isolation during their lives.

Nationwide, no standard exists for identifying and processing the abandoned and indigent dead. State protocols can be vague, inconsistent and outdated. Clerical errors, name changes and misplaced records make finding family of the dead more challenging.

Even if next-of-kin is found, there is no legal requirement they take responsibility.

Read on for more about The Unclaimed.

About five years ago, a man walked into the Montgomery County Coroner’s office with his dead grandparents inside a USPS Priority Mail box with a return address in Miami.

Those ashes, of Lucille Bortner, 57, and Leroy Bortner, 65, who died two months apart in 1986, now sit on a metal shelf in a county storage room along with dozens of other boxes containing the remains of others who have never been claimed by family members or friends.

The unclaimed dead are a growing burden for local governments. Caseloads have shot up dramatically over the past decade. Counties and municipalities are forced to spend more time, resources and tax dollars on handling unclaimed remains, often without the ability to be reimbursed, and with few state standards.

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After six years of service in the U.S. Army, Leo Murphy might be buried in a veterans cemetery. Yet, his cremated remains sit on a shelf in the Bucks County morgue.

The name Margot Kowalski appears on a Nazi list of Jews whose citizenship was revoked under Adolf Hitler, while other records, supplied by the Burlington County Medical Examiner’s office, suggest she was buried in 2003 in an unmarked grave.

Alejandro Guerra was brutally stabbed in a public park in Norristown, according to news reports. Lori Sheridan, of Pottstown, was murdered with a shotgun blast to the abdomen, officials said. Todd Donohue, of Plymouth, was hit so hard by a Pontiac Sunfire that it left hemorrhaging in his brain, and fractured his spine and pelvis, according to police.

None got a funeral.

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Frances Salinger died unnoticed, her cremated remains awaiting burial with others whose bodies were donated to science.

Then, a persistent deputy coroner helped reunite a fractured family.

Salinger was 92 years old when she died in March 2015. The nursing home where she lived was in the process of obtaining guardianship of Salinger, and no next of kin could be found.

The Montgomery County Coroner’s Office, where unclaimed bodies are sent, couldn't find family, either.

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The combat veteran had a simple request: “All I am asking is that my body be buried with the respect I earned.”

David L. Bauer made his plea in the same two-page, undated handwritten letter that he sent to four people in May 1999.

Bucks County Director of Military Affairs Dan Fraley was only months into his new county job when the letter arrived in his mail.

“My name is David L. Bauer and upon receipt of this letter I will most likely be dead…” it started.

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