Christmas far from home

It is almost Christmas. The holiday season is mostly about family, fun, and food. Everyone seems to be in a good mood. I want to have a wonderful Christmas, but now I'm in an extreme situation. I don't know anyone, and I don't understand the language of this country.

What will become of my brothers and other relatives? I didn't have a chance to say goodbye to them. What will happen to Elizabeth and Charles? Will they still be alive? It all happened so suddenly. The mortar fire on the city and the enemy encirclement made it impossible for me to return home.

I hope so. That they are alive by the protection of my parents, who never abandon us from heaven, and why not?, by the magic of Christmas.

What luck I had! I walked for several hours through the bushes until I reached the border. I don't know if it was by providence or by the guidance of my ancestors, but I found the humanitarian corridor where international security forces assisted me and then evacuated me to this strange country. How was I to know that the troops of the neighboring country would invade my city during a festive season?

It's been a month since I left the refugee control center. I am grateful to the family that took me in in full December by government order. I am uncomfortable, I do not want to disturb their home. I see how the children help their parents decorate the large tree in the living room. Golden, silver, red, and green spheres alternated between the green of the pine tree. A thin extension full of star-shaped lights flickers when plugged into the electrical outlet. I smiled as I remembered my childhood, in the same tasks with my brothers.

A joy floods me that is quickly truncated by the uncertainty of the fate of those I love, and that I forcibly left behind. It was supposed that, as the eldest, I should protect them. But the desire to reconnect with nature made me go into the forest and renew my energies. How was I to know that they would invade everything I knew to destroy it?

The table is full of trays lined with aluminum foil, the smell of stews foreshadows a plentiful Christmas dinner and sweets. I should share their joy, but I can’t.

The Robinsons invite me with a gesture to sit at the table. Although I have learned some basic words of their language, I still need to use the universal sign language, as if I were a child learning to speak.

The music is exquisite, and it resonates in my memory, triggering vivid images of happy moments from Christmases past. I want to smile at them, and I try, but apparently, I only manage to show them a grimace that denotes the sadness of my soul. I close my eyes, and I cry out to heaven for strength not to spoil the holidays for these good and kind people, who had welcomed me as one of their own family.

After the holidays, I would have to leave, I had already been informed. My stay here was temporary, while a residence and a job were being enabled. Without a doubt, I was a lucky person with a broken heart.

The clock struck nine, coinciding with the doorbell ringing. I almost died of joy when I saw Elizabeth and Charles enter accompanied by a soldier and a foreign affairs agent through the door. I couldn't believe it, my parents with the blessing of God had just performed the greatest Christmas miracle of my life.