Not that I’m dying but I can kind of relate to this joke.
“An elderly Polish man lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of his impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite pierogies with fried onions wafting up the stairs.
He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted himself from the bed.
Gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs.Downstairs, he leaned against the door frame, gazing into the kitchen where spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table were hundreds of his favorite pierogies.
Was he in heaven? Or was it one final act of love from his wife of 60 years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?
He threw himself towards the table, landing on his knees in a cramped posture. His parched lips parted and the wondrous taste of the Pierogi was already in his mouth.
With a trembling hand he reached up to the edge of the table when suddenly he was smacked with a wooden spoon by his wife.Back off! she said. Those are for the funeral.”
