Irish Love Story
Posted: September 6, 2009, 1:53 am
IRISH LOVE STORY
>
>
> 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 Irish 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 .........................
> 'F*** off' she said, 'they're for the funeral.'
>
>
>
> 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 Irish 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 .........................
> 'F*** off' she said, 'they're for the funeral.'
>