S-H-M-I-L-Y
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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 much 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 enough to 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 went
to church alone, praying for God to watch over his
wife.
Then one day, what we all dreaded
finally happened. Grandma was gone.
"SHMILY"
There it was again---scrawled in bright yellow ink 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 very softly.
Through his tears and grief, the old song came, a
deep 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.
~ Author ~
~Laura Jeanne Allen~
from chicken soup for
the couples soul