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" round 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 colouring. "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, marvelling 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.
"Most of the important things in the world have been
achieved by people who have kept on trying when there seemed to
be no hope at all."
Dale Carnegie
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Last Revised: 08.03.2000
Copyright © Renee's Realm. 2000.