An elderly man lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of
impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favourite
Anzac bikkies 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 waxed paper on the kitchen
table were literally hundreds of his favourite Anzac bikkies.
Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of love from his devoted
Aussie 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 biscuit at the edge of the table, when it was
suddenly smacked by his wife with a spatula.......................
"F#ck off" she said, "they're for the funeral."
