My grandparents were married for over half a century
and played their own special game from the time they had met each other.
The goal of their game
was to write the word "shmily" in a surprise place for the
other to find.
They took turns leaving "shmily" around the house
and as soon as one of them discovered it
it was their turn to hide it once more.
They dragged "shmily" with their fingers through the sugar and
flour containers
to await whoever was preparing the next meal.
They smeared it in the dew on the windows overlooking the patio
where my grandma always fed us warm
homemade pudding with blue food coloring.
"Shmily" was written in the steam left on the mirror after a hot shower
where it would reappear bath after bath.
At one point
my grandmother even unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper
to leave "shmily" on the very last sheet.
There was no end to the places "shmily" would pop up.
Little notes with "shmily" scribbled hurriedly
were found on dashboards and car seats
or taped to steering wheels.
The notes were stuffed inside shoes and left
under pillows.
"Shmily" was written in the dust upon the mantel
and traced in the ashes of the fireplace.
This mysterious word was as such a part of my grandparents' house
as the furniture.
It took me a long time
before I was able to fully appreciate my grandparents' game.
Skepticism has kept me from believing
in true love-one that is pure and enduring.
However
I never doubted my
grandparents' relationship.
They had love down pat.
It was more than their flirtatious little games
it was a way of life.
Their relationship was based on a devotion
and passionate affection
which not everyone is lucky experience.
Grandma and Grandpa held hands every
chance they could.
They stole kisses as they bumped into each other in
their tiny kitchen.
They finished each other's sentences
and shared the daily crossword puzzle and word jumble.
My grandma whispered to me about how cute my grandpa was
how handsome and old he had grown to be.
She claimed that she really knew "how to pick 'em."
Before every meal they bowed their heads and gave thanks
marveling at their blessings
a wonderful family, good fortune, and each other.
But there was a dark cloud in my grandparents' life
my grandmother had breast cancer.
The disease had first appeared ten years earlier.
As always, Grandpa was with her every step of the way.
He comforted her in
their yellow room,
painted that way so that she could always be
surrounded by sunshine
even when she was too sick to go outside.
Now
the cancer was again attacking her body.
With the help of a cane and my
grandfather's steady hand
they went to church every morning.
But my
grandmother grew steadily weaker until
finally, she could not leave the
house anymore.
For a while,
Grandpa would go to church alone,
praying
to God to watch over his wife.
Then one day,
what we all dreaded
finally happened.
Grandma was gone.
"Shmily."
It was scrawled in yellow
on the pink ribbons of my
grandmother's funeral bouquet.
As the crowd thinned and the last
mourners turned to leave
my aunts, uncles, cousins and other family
members
came forward and gathered around Grandma one last time.
Grandpa
stepped up to my grandmother's casket and
taking a shaky breath,
he
began to sing to her.
Through his tears and grief,
the song came,
a
deep and throaty lullaby.
Shaking with my own sorrow
I will never
forget that moment.
For I knew that
although I couldn't begin to
fathom the depth of their love
I had been privileged to witness its
unmatched beauty.
S-h-m-i-l-y: See How Much I Love You.
