An elderly man lay dying in his bed.
In death's final agony, as he started to slip away, he suddenly
smelled the aroma of his favourite chocolate chip cookies
wafting up thestairs.
He gathered his remainin g strength and lifted himself from
the bed.
Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of
the bedroom and with even greater effort forced himself down the stairs.
Gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs defying the
pull
of Morpheas. With laboured breath, he leaned against the door-frame, gazing
into the kitchen.
Were it not for the immense pain caused by his extreme
exertions, he would have thought himself already in heaven for
there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table were hundreds of
his favourite chocolate chip cookies. Was it heaven? Or was it one final
act
of heroic love from his devoted wife, seeing to it that he left this world
a
happy man?
Mustering one great final effort, with tears in his eyes, he
threw himself toward the table, landing on his knees in a
crumpled heap.
His parched lips parted: the wondrous taste of the sweet
biscuit was already mentally in his mouth, seemingly bringing him back to
life.
He felt renewed strength pulsate through his body. The
aged and withered hand trembled on its way to one lone biscuit
at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by
his wife.
"F*ck off", she said, "they're for the funeral."