"SHMILY"
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 over looking 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 out side. 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.
Thank you, Grandma and Grandpa, for letting me see.
[ By Laura Jeanne Allen -- from Aiken Drum ]
Inspirational Stories
SkyWriting.Net
All Rights Reserved.
|