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A very old man lay dying in his bed. Through death's doorway, he
suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite chocolate chip cookie
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.
With labored 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 newspapers on the kitchen table were
literally hundreds of his favorite 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 towards the
table. His aged and withered hand shaking, he reached for a
cookie at the edge of the table, when he was suddenly smacked
with a spatula by his wife.
"Stay out of those," she said, "they're for the funeral !" |
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