An elderly man was dying in his bed. In death’s agony, he
suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite 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. 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 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. The
age withered hand made it’s way to a cookie at the edge of the
table, when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his wife.
“Stay out of those,” she said, “they’re for the funeral.”