Dad spent thirty years telling me these things would kill me. Now he attends every cigarette, and I swear the ember burns a little lower out of respect. We have never been closer.

I ordered the Poetic Justice for my mother-in-law. The plaque says "Some Things Deserve to Burn." Guests laugh, then they read the dates, then they sit down for a while.

My husband never smoked. Neither do I. We just liked the idea of him holding something for me again. The consultant did not blink. That is why we chose this house.

The coaster set arrived in velvet. My sister took two, I took two, and for the first time since the funeral we agreed on a division of assets.

I quit smoking the day the vessel arrived. It sits on the mantel anyway. Empty. Watching. I have never been prouder to disappoint him.

Grandpa always said he would never leave the porch. The Traveler changed that. He has been to Reno twice and, through a mix-up with my coat pockets, one parent-teacher conference.

We enrolled in the Heirloom Program in 2004. Four generations in, it seats nine. Thanksgiving is held around it, per the will, and honestly the turkey has never had a better centerpiece.

I asked the consultant if it was disrespectful. She said "only if you miss." I signed immediately.

Mother requested this herself, in writing, years ago. The lawyer read it out and the whole room went quiet. She would have loved that part most.

It came with a card that explains the concept to guests. I have had to reorder the cards three times. The ashtray is fine. The guests needed the cards.