Silently Witnessing My Funeral

The aroma of the rose, given by my wife, fills my nostrils.
Her eyes, awash with tears as she brought it to me, caused me to wish I could cry as well, but I couldn't.
"I'll always love you," she'd said, not knowing that it was a spider bite that put me here, and not the assumed heart attack.
I wanted to tell my wife that it wasn't my ticker that was the problem, but no words would pass my lips.
Luckily. there's no embalming in my religion.
Now, if only I could tell them that I'm not dead yet.