Strudel

Papa has been lying ill for weeks. A few days ago he slipped into a coma, and everyone feared the worst.

The family is called. The son from Miami. The daughter from Bridgewater. The aunts. The uncles. All sit waiting for the end.

Suddenly a miracle! Papa opens his eyes. Weakly he motions for his son to approach so he can hear talk to him. Papa is weak from illness and so his voice is very faint as he says, "I've been ill?"

"Yes, papa," replies the son with tears choking his voice, "very ill."

The papa nods and speaks again. "I had a dream. I was nearing death when I suddenly smelled the aroma of your mother's apple strudel. I love that strudel. As wonderful a cook as my Sadie is, that strudel is her masterpiece." He lays back against the pillow weak from the exertion of speaking.

"What a wonderful dream, papa. But the smell is real. Mama just took the strudel out of the oven to cool."

"A miracle!" cries Papa as he tries to rise, and weakly falls against the pillows. He turns to his son and says, "I'm still too weak to get up. Go to the kitchen and get for me a piece of Sadie's strudel."

The son obediently rises and leaves the room to fulfill his father's request. . . only to return a few moments later empty handed. He sits again by his father's side.

Papa looks at him and says, "Where is the strudel?"

To which the son replies, "I'm sorry, papa. Mama says it's for AFTER the funeral!"