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 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' lives,
  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
  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.

  Thank you, Grandma and Grandpa, for letting me see.

  ~ Richard ~