An elderly Ukrainian man lay dying in his bed. While suffering the
agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his
favourite Ukrainian perogies with fried onions 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. Where, if 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 perogies.
Was it heaven?
Or was it one final act of heroic love from his Ukrainian 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 a crumpled posture. His parched lips parted,
the wondrous taste of the perogies was already in his mouth, seemingly
bringing him back to life.
The aged and withered hand trembled on its way to the perogies at the
edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a wooden spoon by
his wife.
"Back off!" she said. "They're for the funeral."
agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his
favourite Ukrainian perogies with fried onions 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. Where, if 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 perogies.
Was it heaven?
Or was it one final act of heroic love from his Ukrainian 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 a crumpled posture. His parched lips parted,
the wondrous taste of the perogies was already in his mouth, seemingly
bringing him back to life.
The aged and withered hand trembled on its way to the perogies at the
edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a wooden spoon by
his wife.
"Back off!" she said. "They're for the funeral."
