When I was younger, I loved going to Safeway with my Grandma. We’d head straight to the bakery and ask for my uncle, Eric. He walked out from the back of his work station; I peered into the display cases. My mouth began to water as I saw dessert after dessert. Eric looked down at me, waiting for me to speak. “Can I have a cookie?” I asked with a small smile, keeping my face pointed at the floor and avoiding eye contact. He replied with a quick yes.

That golden chocolate chip cookie. The blue plastic crinkled as I grabbed the snack. In a moment of joy, I brought the cookie up to my nose to smell the richness of the chocolate mixed with the smell of a warm house and happiness. This is what I imagined an afterlife to smell like. I savored that cookie, taking tiny bites, making sure to taste every last crumb. My Grandma shook her head at me, laughing at my antics, but she didn’t say anything. She knew I loved those cookies; they made me feel accomplished, like I won a luxury item.

It wasn’t until many months later that I began to realize my mistake in thinking. At Safeway, a mother and her son stood in line, ordering a birthday cake. I jumped slightly in excitement, a huge smile on my face when I saw her pay, knowing it was almost our turn. That smile quickly faded. Uncle Eric asked the small boy if he wanted a cookie. He said yes. I watched in agony, sulking into myself as he grabbed a blue plastic sheet, opened the cookie box, and handed it to him. The boy wore a bright smile as he turned to his mom and showed her. She returned his enthusiasm with an equally large smile, and they continued on their way. That was the first time I had seen anyone else receive a cookie. The light that brightened the world had suddenly dimmed my entire existence. Still, we had our brief chat which ended with me holding the once savored chocolate chip cookie, crumbs slipping off the side and on to the floor.

My Grandma watched as I stared solemnly at my cookie and asked why I looked so sad. I told her that my cookie wasn’t special anymore. At first she didn’t understand, but after I explained the boy, she nodded softly. “Honey, don’t you think that’s a little selfish, to want every cookie for yourself? Doesn’t everyone deserve to have nice things? Especially something as simple as a cookie.” I looked down at my half-eaten cookie and sighed. Her words made sense to me. I would never be able to eat all the cookies in the world. “As you go through life, always try to help make other people's lives happier,” she said, smiling down at me.

“Do I make you happy Grandma?” I asked.

“Of course you do.”