An elderly man lay dying in his bed. While suffering the
agonies of impending death, he suddenly
smelled the aroma of his favourite scones wafting up the
stairs.
He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted himself from
the bed. Leaning on 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 door-frame,
gazing into the kitchen.
Were it not for death's agony, he would have thought himself
already in heaven,
for there, spread out upon the kitchen table were literally
hundreds of his favourite scones.
Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of love from his
devoted Scottish wife of sixty 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 rumpled posture. His aged and withered hand trembled
towards a scone at the edge
of the table, when it was suddenly smacked by his wife with
a wooden spoon.......
‘Get off’ she said, ‘they're for the funeral.
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