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.
"Stay out of those," she said, "they're for the funeral."
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