An elderly man was very ill, and lay in his bed fully expecting to die at any time. In death's agony, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite chocolate chip cookies wafting up the stairs.
The smell was so overwhelming that he somehow managed to gather his remaining strength to lift 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, agony, and pain from the excursion, he leaned against the kitchen door frame for rest and gazed into the room. Were it not for his physical pain he would have thought himself already in heaven because 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 toward the table, landing on his knees in a rumpled posture.
His parched lips parted as he began to imagine the taste of the wondrous cookies already in his mouth. The thought actually invigorated him, seemingly bringing him back to life. His old and aged hand slowly made its 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 snapped. "They're for the funeral."
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