An elderly man lay dying in his bed. In death's agony, he suddenly
smelled the aroma of his favorite chocolate peanutbutter 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 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 waxed paper on the kitchen
table were literally hundreds of his favorite chocolate peanutbutter
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."