Chocolate Chip Cookies
Posted: January 18, 2006 3:23 pm
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, spreads 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, shaking, 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."
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, spreads 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, shaking, 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."
