by Beverly Bart

Created on: February 05, 2009   Last Updated: February 15, 2009

A few years ago, I was stumped for a Christmas gift for my husband. It had to be a special gift since there would be no gift from his father this year. His father had passed several months prior at the venerable age of 80. His father had changed into his pajamas and smoking jacket, smoked his favorite Excalibur cigar. Upon finishing, the cigar he had reclined back in his favorite lounge chair and went to sleep. That is how we found him, a contented smile upon his face in his final sleep. Still, it was not easy, because you just never really expect it. He was still working over 40 hours a week, this vital energetic man just gone after 80 years. What was even more poignant, December 25, had also been his father's birthday. I guess I forgot to mention that.

The house is decorated and most of the Christmas shopping is done save for that one special gift. The one gift that was to fill this large empty spot on such a festive day. As I stood admiring the decorations my mind still focused on this gift I became aware of something seeming to poke at my subconscious. A smell, my nose wrinkling I realized I was picking up a faint smell of smoke. After quickly checking the tree lights and realizing everything was fine there, I gave more attention to tracing the location.

As I did, I realized it was not an electrical smell, but a tobacco smell, more specifically a cigar. Like a bloodhound on the scent, I keened in on the trail, following it through the house, finding it did indeed get stronger. I knew I was alone and no one, even had they been there smoked cigars. Only one had ever smoked cigars and that had been my father-in-law. Within a few minutes, the trail led me to a roll top desk that had belonged to my father-in-law. Logically I am thinking, okay the cigar smoke smell was imbedded in the wood of the desk. Logically I am also thinking so, why did I not smell it before now? It was getting quite strong now; my stomach was telling me that. How many mints had I chewed while sitting in the back seat of the car, on trips, while my father-in-law smoked in the front seat?

Trust me I was the one hanging my head out the window having to fight the family dog for that privilege. I had not opened this desk, since the day we moved it, so with slightly shaking fingers I opened it. I registered that when I opened it, something dropped down. It was an envelope, a bit of mail addressed to my late father-in-law. My face had anybody seen it, would have shown my surprise as I was sure the

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