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 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.

Pass this on to some of your friends and tell them how much you love them, for there may not be another day that you will talk to them.

I pray the Lord's full and complete blessings on you until we converse again. May His warriors protect and shield you from all harm as you continue in His service. Peace, grace, love and joy in His name.

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