Miguel's wife Rosa came and picked him up from the hospital in Santa Fe and took him home to die, they both knew it would only be a day or 2. As the family gathered to say their goodbyes, the women started making tamales for after the funeral. Everybody knew Miguel's suffering was almost over so there was a sense of sad relief. Upstairs Miguel is lying in bed, barely aware of his surroundings when he gets a whiff of homemade tamales steaming in the big iron kettle. It brings back such wonderful memories of his childhood, watching his mom and grandmother making the traditional Christmas tamales, then later helping his young bride make tamales for everybody. His senses are overwhelmed by that delicious aroma, so he summons every last ounce of his strength and gets out of bed. He knows if he can just have one last tamale he'll die happy and satisfied. He slowly makes his way down the stairs, across the living room and into the kitchen where he sees a huge pile of tamales cooling on a tray. He staggers to the counter, starts to unwrap a steaming wonderful smelling tamale and suddenly his wife slaps his hand and takes the tamale away from him: Hey Pendejo, you can't eat that, it's for the funeral.