“Shall I play for you, pa rum pa pum pum, On my drum?” Beautiful words, songs of Christmas, jingling of bells and Santa’s jolly laughter. The coloured lights and spectacular decor, a wondrous spectacle of Christmastime. Aaron stood in front of the shopping plaza on Main Street and stared in awe at the giant, splendorous Christmas tree. He was not a young boy anymore, but even as a young man, the heavenly scenes of Christmas still enthralled him.

He breathed in the warm fresh air. A luxury! No snow and coldness, but the warmth of the Caribbean, where there is always music and laughter.
“It’s so good to be home,” he said, more to himself than the people around him, but they agreed cheerfully, “Sure is!”
He laughed, exchanged words of good tidings, sang a few lines of Christmas Carols with a group nearby, then hailed a taxi for home.
“It’s been such a long time since I was home,” he mused as the car drove along the country road. He recognized the roti and cook-up shop, the cane juice vendor, and the pink-and-white lilies in the trenches bordering the roadway. One of nature’s astounding beauties: The sweet water-nuts he often ate when his uncle brought him there to fish as a little boy.
“Good days those were!” he said to himself. The car neared his destination and he said to the driver in a deep North American accent, “Stop by the house with the huge genip tree.”
The genip tree was a distinct landmark, especially when in bloom. Aaron stepped out of the car, his heart singing with the spirit of Christmas, for he was home after twenty long years. But his excitement and happiness froze as he stared in shock at the empty land. The house wasn’t there; just a pile of old wooden materials and rusted zinc.
Where did his grandmother’s house go? It had been his home from a baby until he was six, when his mother came and took him away. He never forgot his grandmother’s tears that day, and the last words she had said with a quavering voice, “God’s blessing be with you, my Angel Boy, until I see you again.”
He had cried all the way to the airport, and for months he was sad in his new home, because he missed his grandmother, her loving care, her infectious laughter and her cozy, fresh-scented home. But they wouldn’t send him back, and the years passed, one after another; and he knew when he came of age and had made life good, he would come back home.
Today was that day; two days before Christmas. But there was no house, and no one. The wondrous, excited feeling in his heart dissipated; the songs, the jingle bells silenced. And he shook his head, deeply distraught.
“Please God,” he pleaded silently, “what has happened? I waited so long for this day.”
“Young man?”
Aaron turned around sharply, not sure where the voice was coming from. An old woman stood at the gate, looking at him curiously. “Are you looking for someone?” she asked quietly.
“Yes, I’m looking for my grandma.” The old woman looked at him for a long moment, as if trying to recognize the stranger but couldn’t.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Aaron, and this was my grandmother’s house.”
The old woman gasped. “Sweet Jesus! It’s little Aaron!” She clapped her hands gleefully and shouted, “It’s Aaron!”
Aaron remembered her then, from her laughter, as one of his grandma’s close friends from church.The other neighbours came out to greet him, amazed at how big he had grown, and Aaron felt overwhelmed by their affection; but they had a sad story to tell. His grandmother had grieved for him so much, she had fallen ill, but with the help of friends and prayers, she had recovered and continued her little food business under the genip tree.
But as she grew older, she became weaker, and the house deteriorated until it was unsafe for her to live, and she was taken to a Home. The little house collapsed five months later, and with nowhere else to go, the Home for the Elderly became her home.
Bitter tears escaped Aaron’s eyes as he looked at his boyhood home that held so many fond memories; moments unforgettable. The fence had fallen down in parts, and Grandma’s prized fruit trees — the carambola, sorrel, golden apple and cherries — neglected over the years, were dying.
The tasty local drinks that she sold were her specialty; the fruit trees her livelihood. His heart grieved at what he saw, but he felt a great sense of relief that she was still alive. And, bidding the neighbours ‘Goodbye’ until another day, he left for the Home.
“How did this happen?” he questioned himself. So often he had asked his mother about his grandma, giving her little letters to post, and wanting to know how she was doing; sending money from the military base in the Middle East. And always he was told, “She’s doing fine; she sends her love.” The unkind lies were now revealed.
The Home was old and somewhat drab, standing forlorn in an avenue where the Christmas spirit seemed to have flown past. Aaron’s face as he walked in was the true reflection of sadness. All the years of waiting — dreaming of coming home to love and warmth; to songs and laughter; savouring the food, a special delicacy, and the refreshing drinks, fruits of the Caribbean — had come down to this lonely and sad life, waiting maybe for an angel.
Someone was singing and picking soulfully on the old, worn piano in a dimly-lit sitting area; then Aaron saw her sitting in a corner, a Bible in her hands, aged and lonely. But in his eyes, she seemed not to have aged at all.
“Grandma,” he called her name, softly.
The Bible fell from her hands as she looked up at the young man standing before her, but she did not recognize him. Aaron picked up the faded picture of a little boy that had fallen from between the pages and knelt in front of her, taking both her hands in his. A sparkle lit in her eyes as recognition dawned, and, holding his face with trembling hands, she whispered, “Aaron, my Angel Boy?”
He nodded, too overcome with emotion to speak, and she embraced him, crying, “What took you so long?”
“I’m sorry, Grandma; I didn’t know.”
She wiped his tears gently. “It’s okay, my child. God was watching over me, for He knew you’ll come back one day.”
“I’ll thank Him for the rest of my life,” Aaron said. “Now that I’m here, life will be like it was.”
“Our home is gone,” she said, with a distressed look.
“Don’t worry,” Aaron comforted her. “I’ll build you a new home in the new year, and we’ll replant our fruit trees.”
The piano struck up a more cheerful note that got merrier as Christmas Eve arrived with its glitter and glitz.
In just a couple of days, Aaron had transformed the Home into a place bright with lights, songs and festive cheerfulness, celebrating the reunion of grandmother and grandson in the spirit of Christmas and the miracle of love.
Written By Maureen Rampertab