A Christmas Come True

It’s just something about the way the sun hits the top of the palm trees and how the wind gently caresses the leaves that make me long for home. I am instantly transported to the jagged road that leads to my grandparents’ home in the Blue Mountains in Jamaica. I can hear Mas Manman call to Egbert to remember to tie out the goat before school. The shops are a buzz with the Christmas Spirit, a feeling I cannot explain, it is not tangible, but it is as evident as the air I breathe. Across the river, I hear Tuntun and Ms Mary arguing about where he was last night. 

This is Home. The place where some of our earliest memories are formed and some of our longest lasting relationships are borne. 

I am finally at the slope leading up to where love resides. Through the red and white gate, I see my grandfather seated on his favourite chair with his feet raised smoking his third Craven-A for the morning. His face painted with a life of hard work but his devilishly handsomeness is not a day faded. He doesn’t yet see me, so I dare not risk interrupting the thought he entertains. 

I make my way to the kitchen window and I see my grandmother busy as a bee working to get her famous Christmas cakes finished in time for deliveries as my mother and aunts watches raptly and helps where instructed. I witness the congregation of wisdom, ambition, respect and self-lessness as they conversed together. It is like seeing the meeting of distinguished guests who share a deep affinity for one another. My grandmother begins humming an old hymn, “great is thy faithfulness, morning by morning each mercy I see, all I have needed thy hands hath provided, great is thy faithfulness Lord unto me”. The magic of this song engulfs me with emotions of love, pride, and gratitude.

This feeling is intermittent, as I hear the young and older grandchildren all erupt in laughter at the back of the house which intrigues me to investigate. As I approached, I realise that they are having a dancing competition and with each additional move the laughter becomes even more hysterical. The joy of this scene sends electricity all over my body. 

I press forward some more and notice movement in the slaughterhouse. My dad, my brothers and my older cousins are getting ready to slaughter the Christmas cow. I begin to wonder if this animal knew what joy and contentment its life would bring this family who has been through the wire, this past year. A mixture of profound reverence and jubilation overwhelms me.

Ring, ring, ring, my desktop phone quickly transports me back to reality and a Covid19 ransacked world. If Santa is still taking requests my only desire is to spend Christmas at my grandparents’ in Jamaica with all my family present in unity. The greatest gift this season for me is the gift of presence.