An elderly man lay dying in his bed. In death's agony, he suddenly smelled
the aroma of his favourite chocolate chip cookies wafting up the stairs. He
gathered his remaining 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.
With laboured breath, he leaned against the door-frame, gazing into the
kitchen. Were it not for death's agony, he would have thought himself
already in heaven: there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table
were literally 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, he threw himself toward the table, landing
on his knees in a rumpled posture. His parched lips parted: the wondrous
taste of the cookie was already in his mouth, seemingly bringing him back to
life.
The aged and withered hand trembled on its way to a cookie at the edge of
the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his wife......
"**** off" she said, "they're for the funeral."
the aroma of his favourite chocolate chip cookies wafting up the stairs. He
gathered his remaining 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.
With laboured breath, he leaned against the door-frame, gazing into the
kitchen. Were it not for death's agony, he would have thought himself
already in heaven: there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table
were literally 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, he threw himself toward the table, landing
on his knees in a rumpled posture. His parched lips parted: the wondrous
taste of the cookie was already in his mouth, seemingly bringing him back to
life.
The aged and withered hand trembled on its way to a cookie at the edge of
the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his wife......
"**** off" she said, "they're for the funeral."
