S. J. Henderson Books
Follow S. J.!
  • Home
  • About
  • Blog
  • Formatting
  • Books
    • Young Adult >
      • Hope Creek Series >
        • Single >
          • HC: Single Playlist
        • Double
        • Triple >
          • HC: Triple Playlist
      • In the Middle
    • Middle Grade
    • Children's Books
    • Anthologies
  • Kid Authors
  • Contact
  • Appearances
  • Press
  • Store

It's Not Goodbye.

12/18/2018

1 Comment

 
Picture
It’s Not Goodbye. It’s an Acorn.

Dad holds my hand all the way to the bus that first morning, anchoring me in the way only a dad can. His hand envelopes mine with warmth and stills some of the trembling. I miss him already, and he’s still so near.
“You’re going to have the best time.” Dad smiles down at me. “You’ll see.”
I’m not convinced. “But what if I...”
He squeezes my hand, a gentle pulse.  “Oh, I almost forgot.” He releases my hand long enough to fish around his front pocket for something. When his hand meets mine again, he tucks something in my palm. It’s hard, a strange combination of smooth and rough.
An acorn.
My mouth opens, in true child fashion, to ask a million questions about this unusual gift.  Dad raises a finger to his lips then says, “It’s not goodbye. It’s an acorn. When you get lonesome, you have this acorn to remind you of me... and when you get home, we’ll talk about all of your adventures. Deal?”
I nod. “Deal.” And much too soon I’m whisked away from my dad.
All day, I held tightly to the acorn. When I felt frightened, the acorn was my dad holding my hand. When my heart ached for my parents, I clutched the acorn to my chest and it became a hug.
Soon enough, I was home again and the stories flowed from me in a non-stop current of colors, letters, and numbers.

That was the first acorn. Over time, my collection grew, one by one. I’d find acorns everywhere: slipped inside my pillowcase my first week away at summer camp; in my suit coat pocket when I finally got up the nerve to ask Sarah Mackleby to homecoming; the glove box of that rusty Taurus; even ferreted away in a case of ramen in my freshman dorm room. That first acorn became a bowl full, eventually spilling over into an entire bucket, which I kept in the corner of my bedroom. My friends made fun of me for that bucket, and I’d let them... but deep down I knew many of them were missing out on what Dad and I shared. 


The night of my wedding reception, Dad pulls me aside as guests butcher The Electric Slide on the dance floor. He studies me quietly for a moment, taking in the flush of my cheeks and the way my eyes stray from his to my bride on the other side of the room. 
“Here,” he says, extending his hand. “It’s not much, but I wanted you to have it.”
An acorn. 
At that moment, everything was changing. A rift had formed between my childhood and everything that would come afterward. I roll the acorn around in my fingers as tears cloud my vision. “Dad, I...” I miss him already, and he’s still so near.
He raises his finger to his lips. “It’s not goodbye. It’s an acorn. You keep it, and you think of me. We’ll catch up on your adventures soon.” Then he nods to Sarah, who, in her glowing perfection, had come to steal me away for a slow dance.


Several years later, Sarah and I stand in the front yard, arms locked around each other, surveying our first home one last time. Behind us, Dad finishes loading the last box on the moving truck. 
“That should do it,” Dad announces. “You’ll want to check the pressure on that right rear tire. Looks a little low.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Sarah smiles. She wriggles free from my embrace to hug him. “We couldn’t have gotten all of this done without you.”
Dad and Sarah hold each other for a while, and there isn’t a dry eye around. We knew my new job would mean a big move. I didn’t realize how tough it would be for Sarah. Or Dad. 
And before I know what’s happening, Dad places an acorn in Sarah’s hands. 
“It’s not goodbye,” he says as he hands me my own acorn. “It’s an acorn.” 
Sarah’s mouth drops open as she realizes she’s been inducted into our club.
“Go, have your adventure!” Dad says. “We’ll talk all about it when we’re together again.”


Our club continues to grow over the years, when I discover an acorn on the changing table in Emma’s room after returning from dropping my parents off at the airport. Emma, only two months old, isn’t old enough to appreciate her acorn. I, on the other hand, have to excuse myself to go cry like a baby.


One day, much too soon for my liking, Mom calls me. She tries to sound chipper as she asks about the girls, but there’s no disguising the worry permeating her voice. I grab the nearest acorn and squeeze it in my palm. “Is something wrong with Dad?”
She sighs deeply, setting aside the upbeat act. “You know I didn’t want to tell you like this, but... you should come see him, honey. It doesn’t look good.”

I’ve always hated hospitals. I hate them even more when someone I love is in one. It’s a suckerpunch to my gut when I walk into Dad’s room.  He’s so tiny and fragile in that hospital bed, which I never thought possible. When he recognizes me, a grin splits his gaunt face, followed by a swipe at “the blasted air doohickey” protruding from his nose. 
We don’t mention the elephant in the room, even though it looms closer and closer with every passing moment. Instead, we talk in fits and bursts, anything he can manage with low oxygen and even lower energy. I stay until his eyelids droop, which is my cue to go. Before I leave, I place an acorn in his frigid hands.
“That’s perfect.” Dad’s eyes fill with tears. “Just perfect.”
“It’s okay, Dad. Go, have your adventure. We’ll catch up when we’re together again.” I don’t want to say goodbye. I don’t even want to give him an acorn. I just want him to stay... but I can’t hold him here.


Several days later, I sit in the front row of the funeral home as Dad’s buddies and colleagues from the plant file past his casket to pay their final respects. I still can’t seem to grasp his absence, that this time it really was a goodbye. Marty, Dad’s best friend, settles in the empty chair next to me with a shaky exhale.  “How ya doin’, kid?”
I answer him with a muffled sniffle into a balled-up Kleenex.
He pats my knee.  “They don’t make ‘em like that anymore, that’s for sure.  But isn’t it something?” Marty nods in the direction of Dad’s casket. I’ve been avoiding looking up there. That’s not my dad.  I mean, it’s his body, but my dad is somewhere else. On an adventure.
Marty’s face softens.  “Look, I know. But you should go see.”  With some creaking and groaning, he rises from the chair and extends his hand. I take it because God knows I need a hand to hold right now.  We walk to Dad’s side, hand-in-hand. 
My dad.  My best friend.  Smiling eternally, ensconced in satin... and acorns. Easily a hundred acorns nestled around him and tucked in his pockets.  Our secret club was a little less secret than I’d first thought, but it was all so perfect.

​
Untold beauty held in the confines of a dull, unassuming seed. Such a small thing, an acorn, and yet the promise of a forest. When all else withers away, when all seems desolate, a spark of hope waits in expectation of finding roots.  Even in the bleakest night of winter, the comfort of the first wisps of green to come remains.

Shelter. Beauty. Hope. Rebirth.

It’s never goodbye.  It’s an acorn.
​
1 Comment
Benjamin Block link
12/20/2018 04:05:34 pm

Beautiful! It’s not goodbye. It’s an acorn. Thanks for sharing, for your creativity, and stories!

Reply



Leave a Reply.

    S. J.

    The random things that cross my mind go here...

    Enter your email address to receive notification when new blogs are posted:

    Delivered by FeedBurner

    Archives

    November 2019
    December 2018
    July 2017
    March 2017
    January 2017
    October 2016
    September 2016
    August 2016
    May 2016
    April 2016
    March 2016
    January 2016
    September 2015
    August 2015
    July 2015
    June 2015
    May 2015
    April 2015
    March 2015
    February 2015
    January 2015
    December 2014
    November 2014
    October 2014
    September 2014
    August 2014
    July 2014
    June 2014
    May 2014
    April 2014
    March 2014
    December 2013
    November 2013
    October 2013
    August 2013
    July 2013
    June 2013
    May 2013
    April 2013
    March 2013
    February 2013
    January 2013
    December 2012
    November 2012
    October 2012
    September 2012
    July 2012
    June 2012
    May 2012

    Categories

    All
    10 Questions
    A Dance
    Adventure Quest Books
    Agents
    & A Little White Dress
    Alora: The Portal
    Amazon
    Anaiah Press
    Anthology
    Audiobook
    Audrey Kane
    Babies
    Being West Is Best
    Beta Readers
    Birth
    B L Hoffman
    Blog
    Blog Hop
    Blog Tour
    Book Blast
    Camp NaNoWriMo
    Censorship
    Characters
    Cheryl Carpinello
    Chick Lit
    Children's Book
    Childrens Book Week
    Chris Baty
    Christian
    Collected Works
    Community
    Contests
    Countdown Deal
    Cover Reveal
    Critics
    Cynthia Port
    Damnation
    Daniel 2
    Daniel The Camp Er
    Daniel The Camp-er
    Daniel The Draw Er
    Daniel The Draw-er
    Deborah McClatchey
    Dedication
    Editing
    Facebook
    Fan Art
    Fansi
    Fantasy
    Feedback
    Field Trip
    Fiona Ingram
    Free
    Free Speech
    Frozen Hearts
    GEORGE KNOWS
    Ginnie West
    Giveaway
    Goals
    Goodbye Tchaikovsky
    Goodreads
    Hearing Loss
    Holiday Adventure Book Blast
    Hope Creek
    Hope Creek Double
    Hope Creek Single
    Hope Creek Triple
    Horror
    Horses
    How To
    Inspiration
    Interview
    In The Middle
    In The Rearview
    Introduction
    Jeff Goins
    Jo Noelle
    Karma
    Kasian Publishing
    Kathleen S. Allen
    Kathryn Trattner
    Kibble Talk
    Kid Authors Project
    Kidlit
    Kids
    Kindle
    Kristin D. Van Risseghem
    Krysten Hager
    Landry In Like
    Laura Brown
    Legends Of The Timekeepers
    Library
    Liebster Award
    Lila's Choice
    Limitless Publishing
    Love
    Lucy
    Macaroni
    Maria Ann Green
    Mary DeWeber
    Max's Arabian Adventure
    Memes
    Memories
    MG
    Mglit
    Michael Thal
    Middle Grade
    Mindy Mymudes
    Mitte
    Moe
    Monique Bucheger
    Mosaic
    Mourning
    Music
    Mystery
    NA
    Names Changed To Protect The Innocent
    NaNoWriMo
    New Adult
    Newbie
    New Release
    Next Door To A Star
    No Plot No Problem
    Novel
    Novella
    Poetry
    Prime Day
    Promotion
    Publishing
    Pure Awesome
    Querying
    Quotes
    Rafflecopter
    Rebecca Lamoreaux
    Reviews
    Rita Monette
    Romance
    Sale
    Scam
    School
    Share
    Sharon Ledwith
    Short Stories
    Silliness
    Sky Writers
    Smashwords
    Sneak Peek
    Sonia Poynter
    Sons Of The Sphinx
    Soundtrack
    Spencer Kane
    Spencer Kane Adventures
    Stef Gonzaga
    Stephenie Meyer
    Story Cartel
    Support
    Tamie Dearen
    The Guardian A Sword & Stilettos
    The Incidental Inheritance
    Their Tangled Hearts
    The Last Stored
    The Legend Of Ghost Dog Island
    The Passage
    The Purple Girl
    The Search For The Stone Of Excalibur
    The Secret In Mossy Swamp
    The Work Of Others
    Thunderclap
    Time Warp
    Tommy
    Topaz Winters
    Treasure Hunt
    True Colors
    Tumblr
    Tutankhamen Speaks
    Twitter
    Ultimate Reading Quest
    Virtual Book Fair
    Welcome
    Wendy Leighton-Porter
    What I'm Working On
    When The Circus Came To Town
    Whiskers
    Winner
    Write Or Die
    Writer
    Writer Problems
    Writer's Block
    #writewemay
    Writing
    Writing Prompt
    Wyvern Lit
    YA
    Yalit
    YANA Sisterhood
    Young Adult

    RSS Feed

All Rights Reserved, S. J. Henderson 2014