Cecil had been sent home to pass in the comfort of his home, there being nothing more that could be done to cure his ailment. Being in severe pain, he was hooked up to a morphine drip with a constant dose trickling through. While drifting in and out of consciousness, his senses became aware of something. It immediately made him feel a little happier, a little stronger. Good memories flowed. Pondering the source of his content, he realised that it was a smell. The smell of his favourite cookies being baked.
He then realised that his wife must be baking him a treat. He cast his mind back over his 60 years of marriage to his wife Martha. There were some good times, and many of those other times. He then realised that this must be Martha’s last attempt to put things right and say sorry in his darkest time, and send him on his last journey in peace.
Filled with a little more strength Cecil tears the drip from his arm. Almost immediately the pain increases no longer being kept in check by the morphine. As he attempts to sit up, he painfully falls to the cold, hard floor of his room. He then drags himself across the floor to the top of the stairs and carefully starts t make his way down. After just the first step, he slips and tumbles all the way to the bottom. Thankfully, he passes out.
A short time later, he is again awoken by the scent of the baking. He painfully makes his way into the kitchen he sees his Martha busy baking and a rack on the bench piled up with his favourite choc chip cookies.
He drags himself across to the bench and lacking the strength to speak to Martha he uses the very last of his strength to stand and reaches out to take a cookie.
Martha turns around to see him reaching out and swats him on the hand with her spatula, saying “Pi55 off, they’re for the wake.”
