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. no smoke. He took out the poker and cleaned the bowl, put the brass rod away and looked.“Nope ... plenty, Chuck.”Amazing ... pot had come so far. Prior to this my most memorable high had been when every body was out and Tim cleaned out his empty baggie collection.Just the dust leftover from three years of madness. The dregs managed to fill the foil lined bowl of a miniature corncob pipe.One hit and everything turned maroon. That hit was so powerful that nobody hit it again ... once was good enough.What Chuck had was fringed with clear crystals of hardened THC.Whoever had stashed his stuff in my shed missed it ... I’ll bet.This wasn’t like the best ... what made it memorable was smoking it with my son. That and it was the first time in almost ten years. Did I get stoned? Oh yeah.“Ditch it, Chuck.”“Mom.”“Walk over to the bushes and toss it ... not in the bag. We’ll drop that off when we gas up. Go on. The pipe too.”Wonder of wonders ... he did it. That pipe cost 25 bucks ... at least. ‘Now, you’d better get some rest. We’ve tired you out.’ I rearranged the covers, and she turned her head on the pillow and closed her eyes. I dimmed the lights, and left the room, closing the door quietly. I could hear the girls upstairs in Amy’s room, Laura doing her best to comfort Amy. I went into my study, sat down, and looked out of the window without really seeing. Part of me wanted Pam to hold on for as long as she could, to postpone the inevitable, but part of me realised that it would be a mercy for her to go sooner, to avoid unnecessary pain and the inevitable increasing intrusiveness of the care she would need. Again I prayed that whatever happened, would be right. *** It was a bright, warm morning as we stood in the churchyard. Somehow that felt wrong, it ought to have been cold, grey, raining, to match the occasion. The minister had finished reading the age-old words, so familiar that I had to make a conscious effort to think about what they meant. ‘Ashes to ashes, dust.
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