Post by Woody Williams on Mar 2, 2024 8:54:35 GMT -5
As the elderly man lay dying in his bed, death’s agony was suddenly pushed aside as he smelled the aroma of his favorite homemade chocolate chip cookies wafting up the stairs.
Gathering his remaining strength, he lifted himself from the bed. Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, and with intense concentration, supported himself down the stairs, gripping the railing with both hands. In labored breath, he leaned against the doorframe, gazing wide-eyed into the kitchen.
There, spread upon the newspapers on the kitchen table, were literally
HUNDREDS of his favorite chocolate chip cookies! Was I 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, one hand on the edge of the table. The aged and withering hand quivering, made its way to a cookie near the edge of the table; feeling the warm soft dough actually made the pain of his bones subside for a moment. His parched lips parted; the wondrous taste of cookies was already in his mouth; seemingly bringing him back to life.
He reached for another cookie. What then, was this sudden stinging that caused his hand to recoil? He looked to see his wife, still holding a spatula she has just used to smack his hand.
“Stay out of those cookies!’ she said, “They’re for your funeral!”
Gathering his remaining strength, he lifted himself from the bed. Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, and with intense concentration, supported himself down the stairs, gripping the railing with both hands. In labored breath, he leaned against the doorframe, gazing wide-eyed into the kitchen.
There, spread upon the newspapers on the kitchen table, were literally
HUNDREDS of his favorite chocolate chip cookies! Was I 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, one hand on the edge of the table. The aged and withering hand quivering, made its way to a cookie near the edge of the table; feeling the warm soft dough actually made the pain of his bones subside for a moment. His parched lips parted; the wondrous taste of cookies was already in his mouth; seemingly bringing him back to life.
He reached for another cookie. What then, was this sudden stinging that caused his hand to recoil? He looked to see his wife, still holding a spatula she has just used to smack his hand.
“Stay out of those cookies!’ she said, “They’re for your funeral!”