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 racks on the kitchen table and counters 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."