For Love of Almonds

Cole loved almonds. He ate them every day.

The day his body decided to become allergic to them was the darkest day of his life. After a quick trip to the emergency room, and few days recovery, Cole was told he couldn’t eat another almond, ever. He cried, and he cursed, and he vowed to shake this off.

He spent the next years looking at them, wishing, remembering the sweet, warm nut crumbing in his mouth, swallowing the bits, and popping another. He had eaten so many as a child.

Through his adult days, he talked to doctor after doctor about getting rid of the allergy, but no matter what they tried, he always swelled up when he bit in to one. He gave up at fifty-three after a particularly bad recovery, knowing he’d likely never eat another almond again.

He was wrong; at seventy-four, Cole’s genes caught up to him, and he deteriorated quickly. As he lay on his deathbed, knowing he had perhaps two or three days left, he sent his children out on an errand. They returned with a small bag of almonds. The doctor and nurses looked away, his children held one hand, and with the other, he threw a handful of almonds in his mouth. His face and neck swelled up, but he died smiling, savouring the flavour. His family was glad he could die so happily.

5 thoughts on “For Love of Almonds

  1. I have a friend with celiac disease. She has said countless times that when she gets old, she’s going to get in bed with as many cakes and pizzas as she can and eat till she dies. She’d love this story, as did I 🙂

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