An elderly Irishman lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of impending death, 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, gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs. With laboured breath, he leaned
against the doorframe, gazing into the kitchen. Were it not for death's agony, he would have thought himself
already in heaven, for 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 Irish
wife of fifty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man? Mustering one great final effort, he threw
himself towards 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.
"Feck off" she said, "they're for the funeral."
lifted himself from the bed. Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, and with even
greater effort, gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs. With laboured breath, he leaned
against the doorframe, gazing into the kitchen. Were it not for death's agony, he would have thought himself
already in heaven, for 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 Irish
wife of fifty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man? Mustering one great final effort, he threw
himself towards 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.
"Feck off" she said, "they're for the funeral."