AND THE MAGIC OF CHRISTMAS

‘And so it’s the time of the year,
of goodwill and cheer,
Jingle bells and Christmas trees,
The magic and the splendor,
That’s the Christmas Season.’
‘Shall I play for you, pa rum pum pum pum
On my drum?’

BEAUTIFUL songs of Christmas, the sparkling coloured lights and festive decors, a wonderous spectacle that’s simply magical in the Christmas season.
Aaron stood in front the Courts shopping plaza on Main Street and stared admiringly at the awesome light up of that section of the road. He was not a young boy anymore but even as the young adult he was now, the festivities of Christmas still enthralled him.

He breathed in the fresh, warm air, a luxury for him. No snow and cold, just the warmth of this tropical country where there is always music, laughter and food with a Caribbean flavour.
“It’s so good to be home,” he exuded more to himself than the many people walking around, and they answered cheerfully, “It sure is.”
He laughed, a feeling of joy in his heart, as he greeted strangers, sang a few lines of Christmas carols with a group nearby, then went back to his hotel.
Tomorrow he would visit his boyhood home on the East Coast.

“It’s been a long time since I was home,” he mused as the taxi drove along the embankment road, the next day, passing the breathtakingly beautiful pink and white lilies in the waterways that bordered the roadway.
He remembered the sweet water nuts he used to eat as a little boy when the big boys in the neighbourhood brought him there sometimes to fish.
“Fun days those were,” he said to himself.

The car neared his destination in Cummings Lodge and he said to the driver, “Stop by the house with the huge genip tree.”
Aaron stepped out of the car, his heart rejoicing for he was home after sixteen long years. But the scene that greeted his eyes dampened his enthusiasm, as he stared at the empty land. The house wasn’t there, just a pile of old wooden material, and some rusted zinc. The genip tree that had grown old was leaning on the fence, holding onto life, and her prized fruit trees, the sorrel, carambola and cherries that had once provided tasty local drinks, were now dying from neglect.

“Where did my grandmother’s house go?” he asked quietly, trying to keep a calm mind.
It had been his home since he was a toddler until he became seven when his mother came and took him away. He had never forgotten his grandmother’s tears that day and the last words she had said with a quivering voice,
“God’s blessings 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 in America. He missed his grandmother, her loving care, kind voice and cozy, freshly scented home. But his mother would not send him back to the year passed on one after another. He had made a promise to himself that when he came of age and had earned enough money, he would return home.
Today was that day, four days before Christmas, but there was no house and no one. He shook his head in deep despair.
“Dear God,” he explained silently, “What happened here? I waited so long for this day.”

He pushed open the old gate that was hanging on one hinge and stood in the middle of the yard, looking around, an ache in his heart, afraid to ask that one question about what happened to her. He sighed deeply, knowing he had to face the truth, and after a long while he turned to go, to inquire from the neighbours about his grandmother when someone called out to him.
“Young man.”

He turned around and saw an old lady standing at the gate looking at him curiously.
“Are you looking for someone?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m looking for my grandmother.”
The old lady looked at him for a long moment, maybe reflecting on something because he spoke with a foreign accent, then she gasped, “Sweet Jesus, it’s little Aaron!”
She clapped her hands gleefully and announced loudly, “It’s Aaron!”
He remembered her then, one of grandma’s close friends and as other neighbours came out to greet him, expressing their amazement at how big he had grown, Aaron felt a little happy feeling rising in his heart, but not for long, for they had a sad story to tell him.

His grandmother had grieved for him so much, she had fallen ill but with the help of caring neighbours and prayers, she had recovered and continued her little food business just outside the yard, shaded by the genip tree. But as she grew older, she became weaker and family members who visited her now and then, always wanted something, always taking things from the house. She became so ill that she had to be taken to a home because no family stepped up to take her in their home. The house started to deteriorate and one night after heavy rains and high winds, the little house collapsed.

She had no house to go back to, no family to care for him, so the home for the elderly became her new home.
Bitter tears rolled down Aaron’s face at the story of her suffering, of leaving the only thing of value she had, her house, his boyhood home, that held so many precious memories.
“This is so bad,” he said, a fiery determination in his eyes to correct all of it, and though there was an ache in his heart, he felt a deep sense of relief that she was still alive.
“I am coming to get you, grandma,” he said.
As he headed back to the city, he questioned himself, “How did this happen?”
Often he had asked his mother about his grandmother, giving her little postcards to send and wanting to know how she was doing. He had been giving money to send for her from his savings and was always told she’s doing fine, she sends her love.

Aaron had joined the army at a young age and being deployed to different countries had made it difficult for him to make contact so he had trusted his mother to do so.
“Such heartless lies,” he said to himself, “How could you have done this, mother? Is it because she’s my father’s mother?”
The elderly home stood forlorn in an avenue where the Christmas spirit seemed to have flown pass. As he walked in, the look on his face was a reflection of sadness and anger for all the years of her love, kindness and selfless sacrifices had come to this sad and lonely life.
Someone was singing a soulful tune on the old, worn piano in a dimly lit sitting area and Aaron saw her sitting in a corner, a Bible in her hand.
“Grandma…” he called to her softly.

The Bible fell from her hand 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. A sparkle shone in her eyes as recognition dawned, and holding his face with trembling hands, she whispered weakly, “Aaron, my angel boy.”
He nodded, too overcome with emotions to speak and she embraced him, crying, “What took you so long?”
She wiped his tears gently, saying, “It’s okay, my child, God was watching over me for he knew you would come back one day.”
“I will thank God for the rest of my life,” Aaron said, “And now that I am here, life will be like it was.”
“Our home is gone,” she said with a distressed look.

“Don’t worry,” Aaron comforted her, “I will build you a new house but for now we will celebrate Christmas.”
The piano struck a more cheerful note and true to his word, in just a couple of days, Aaron had transformed the elderly home from a place with better conveniences, lights, décor and a festive atmosphere, for these were also people without homes, who needed that little extra care.
The old neighbourhood and the church, he also brought Christmas cheer to, celebrating the reunion of grandmother and grandson – the magic of Christmas.