Subject: SHMILY
From: Unicorn (unicorn@indenial.com)
Date: Sun Jun 08 2003 - 02:32:35 EDT
"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 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 would go
to church alone, praying to G~d 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.
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