My story occurred on December 21st, 2019.  It’s about Jack Daniel's Tennessee Whiskey.  Now I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I like a little shot of whiskey in my coke. 

I also like it in my coffee. And my hot chocolate. Okay, I will put a shot of whiskey in just about anything if the mood strikes me.

That’s not to say that I’m a heavy drinker. A bottle of Jack can last me a year if I’m not feeling it. I simply enjoy the taste at times.  

I should start at the beginning, where all the best stories seem to begin. My wife and I were invited to Jim and Jesse’s annual Christmas affair. It is quite the event. A smorgasbord of treats from snack sized goodies to full on dinner dishes.  

That, combined with a full bar, and great music, lends itself to a festive evening. The annual party traditionally ends with a gift raffle.  

That year, there were several great items to win, from a cheese tray to a bottle of Irish crème liquor, but only one object caught my eye. A nice fifth of Jack Daniel's Tennessee Whiskey.  

There were eleven gifts, and about two hundred people at the party, all of whom had been given a raffle ticket. I didn’t hold out high hopes of tasting that Jack. 

“Number 72.” Holy crap, I won!  First pick. I barely heard my wife mumbling something about the cheese tray as I greedily wrapped my meaty paw around my newly acquired fifth of JD.  Bet she wished they’d called out number 73. Score!  

We hung out for a bit longer, but when we grabbed our coats, our host Jim approached us. “Can I tell you a story?”

This is what Jim relayed, “My father-in-law, Rick, loved our Christmas parties. He was really looking forward to this one this year. Unfortunately, he died back in September.  

Jack Daniel's was Rick’s favorite drink. Every year Rick would bring a bottle of Jack Daniel's to be raffled. It was his thing. We always raffle ten gifts every year.  This Christmas we raffled eleven.

I went to the store a few days ago and selected ten items, and when I got home, there were eleven items in my bags. The ten that I bought, and that bottle of JD you’re holding.”

He proceeded to show us a receipt with the ten other raffled items on it. No bottle of Jack Daniel's. 

“Ah man. You should keep this.” I held it out for him, thinking about the sentimental value. 

“Nope. We believe Rick wanted to participate in the raffle one last time, and you won it. The bottle is where it belongs.”  

We took the bottle home, and after sharing the story, nobody wanted to drink a dead man’s whiskey. Most thought it was creepy. 

That’s okay. I did say ‘most.’ I enjoyed several drinks of Jack on Rick that following year, always starting with a toast to him. Who am I to stand in the way of a man’s dying wish?