An elderly man lay 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 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, shakingly 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 said, "they're for the funeral."