On top of our China cabinet sits an empty bottle of Old Forester 1924. The label is worn from being handled and passed around, and across the glass, in black ink, is a short inscription from my daughter Lizzi. It’s one of the most valuable bottles I own—not because of what’s in it, but because of the memory it holds.
I’ve learned that some bottles become more than just a drink. They become a bookmark in your life story. And sometimes, those bookmarks mark very different chapters.
The first takes me back to 2007, the day my mom died. My brother Jeff had flown in just in time to spend her last hours by her side. When she passed, I went home for a moment and came back with two cigars my friend Scott had given me and a bottle of Paul Masson Grande Amber VSOP. Back then, they made it with cognac, and it was smooth, rich, and warming—nothing like the blended brandy it is today. (Someone should tell Total Wine about the change so they can update their website.)
Dad was sitting with Mom’s body, waiting for the funeral home to arrive. Jeff and I walked down to the riding ring on their five-acre place, lit the cigars, and poured the brandy. We talked about Mom and life, taking slow sips in the fading light. It was a terrible day, but that bottle became part of the comfort we found in the middle of grief.
The other bottle marks a far happier day—Lizzi’s wedding this past May. I’d brought about a dozen bourbons with me to share with Scott, but I held one back for after the ceremony: Old Forester 1924. High Grove Farms in Valdosta was the perfect setting—warm light over rolling fields, the joy of family and friends gathered to celebrate. I handed the 1924 to the bartender with instructions that it was for Scott and me, but I sent Jeff and a couple of others over for a pour, too.
We all agreed—it was worth the wait. We emptied the bottle that night, each sip carrying a little bit of the joy in the air. Later, I kept the bottle and asked Lizzi to sign it. Now it sits in my dining room, a quiet reminder of one of the happiest days of my life.
Two bottles, two moments—one filled with the weight of loss, the other with the brightness of celebration. In both cases, what mattered most wasn’t the drink itself, but the people I shared it with and the memories we made. The bottles are empty, but the moments are full.
Copyright © 2025 Doug DeBolt.
