SHMILY

I'm not too much into romantic stories...usually they are about people who only show each other their very best and then when they finally get married, then all the secrets come out...:-)SCARY!

I am much more likely to want to read something about people who have developed more of an emotional tie that has stood the test of time, when the outward beauty may have faded a little, but he didn't really notice it...And where there's a little "history" between them. They know each other like no one else could...how could ANYONE come between two people like that?

So, anyway :-), you may have seen this story a gazillion times just this week, but this was my first (forwarded to me from my in-laws), and I thought it was sweet. So I am sharing it with you.

And while I'm at it, let me just say that it's nice to have inside stuff with the people that you really love. Maybe "shmily"....maybe something else. But I have known people who have a little "thing" with their spouses, children, best friends, parents...whoever. It's nice to have something that is just between you and the other person.

OK, enough of that. On to the story.

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 three 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 stream 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 place "shmily" would pop up.

Little notes with "shmily" scribbled hurriedly were found on dashboard 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 grandparent's house as the furniture.

It took me a long time before I was able to fully appreciate my grandparent's game. Skepticism has kept me from believing in true love...one that is pure and enduring.

However, I never doubted my grandparent's relationship. They had love down pat. It was more than their flirtatious little games; it was a way of life. It was their 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 grandparent's life: my grandmother had 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 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, 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.

(See How Much I Love You)

"Well, if I had a nickel,
I know what I would do,
I'd spend it all on candy
And give it all to you.
I'd spend it all on candy,
And give it all to you
Cause that's how much I love you, baby
That's how much I love you..."